Booked
by HetaliaHour
Summary: Alfred has a fairly easy job. He's a prostitute. He gets paid pretty decent and when his boss isn't bitching at him or he doesn't have to f*ck an old guy, he's pretty content. I mean, all jobs have their downsides, don't they? But what happens when a mysterious Brit books him out for a year! UkUs/FAIL Summary (M for cursing and later chapters)
1. Chapter 1

**First fanfiction for my OTP :D. I apologize for not finishing the last story I wrote, but I sort of lost motivation. I'm not really a fan of the pairing anymore, so trying to finish it up ****was pretty difficult. Anyway, here goes this one! I apologize if it's sort of stupid and clich**_**é and just flat out rushed sounding :3. **_**Please review ;-; Reviewing means so much, you don't even know O3O**

**Also, I apologize if there are any mistakes, but it I went through this again, I probably would never publish it since I'm so critical about what I write ;^;**

**Warnings: Boy x Boy, Cursing, Sexual Themes, Not just mindless sex (this fanfiction will actually have a plot, so if you're looking for smut, you should leave eue;;)**

**Rating: M for cursing and perhaps some later chapters**

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1

Alfred Foster Jones—unlike the other squirming, sheepish boys around him—had no qualms about standing there in the lineup. He stood there indifferently, not caring if customers walked along and undressed him in their heads. Their eyes usually lingered on him more than other's but that was to be expected.

Alfred had been told more often than not, that he was a real looker. And hell, he'd caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror before, he wasn't blind. His skin was golden and tan—how he'd managed to pull that off was beyond him, he spent most of his time inside—and his eyes popped out in contrast, two deep sky-blue irises. He had light pink Cupid's bow lips just screaming to be kissed and perfectly arched brows. Both his brows and messy, bed head hair were a dark shade of honey blonde, a single strand straying up from the rest.

His body was a whole other story in itself—while _soft_ (arguably even a little chubby)—he was pretty toned. He had abs, guns, the whole package—it was safe to say that most found him pretty manly. Though if you really examined him closely, he could be awfully _girly_ as well.

He had a pretty full, round backside (earning him quite a few cat calls and squeezes every now and again) and a good figure on him, curves and all.

Though as soon as someone might've settled on him, they were immediately flashed a wink by the Frenchman to his right and all bets were off.

Francis—that French-hailing bastard who occupied the room just next to his—was oddly attractive to most. He had a certain "_je ne sais quoi"__—_some sort of charm to him that reeled in customers left and right. Of course he was a bit shorter than Alfred… which in itself could attribute to something he supposed—he could catch and receive, if you caught his drift. His blonde hair curled at the ends and bounced just above his shoulders. He had small stubble on his chin—a joke of a goatee—and bright lavender eyes. Alfred chalked it up to being some sort of special contacts. Half these bastards here had odd colored eyes. He figured they probably all used the same brand.

Ah, but yeah. There was a good chance the customer today wouldn't be any different when it came to choosing Francis, so Alfred didn't even bother looking up as he entered, instead absorbing himself in picking at his fingernails.

"I assure you, Mr. Kirkland, they're all top quality!" the boss assured to whatever sorry bastard had pranced in today. Oh, _rich_, he forgot to mention that. Sorry, _filthy rich_ bastard.

They were nearly all filthy rich. I mean, for all these fine ass men lined up, Alfred would've assumed these customers were paying good money. He may have signed away his pride and dignity his first day, but he still had enough of it in him to hope these men were paying big bucks for him.

He'd have to be trimming his nails soon, he thought dully, in distraction to the two chatting men's conversation.

That Kirkland must've just nodded or something because Alfred hadn't heard a reply and he could already see a fuzzy image of him out of the corner of his eye beginning to walk along and examine them all slowly.

_Perfect time to start his game_, he thought with a shit-eating grin, beginning to imagine the age and appearance of the mysterious customer. It was something he'd only started doing recently, now that he'd gotten comfortable with this whole thing.

(He'd even gotten so good at it that he'd even come up with the "Alfred Jones Guarantee!" But in Alfred's mind, being 75% right 75% of the time counted as being darn near perfect.)

_Kirkland_, he threw the name around curiously in his head, trying to match it up with a description. Fat, probably, he assumed. Fat, old…_how old_? He was probably mid forties…early fifties maybe at the latest. Probably with a comb over, he decided. A CEO.

Kirkland must've passed them all faster than he'd anticipated because before he knew it he could see the outline of the man's profile standing to his left, looking up and down curiously at Mathew. Alfred looked up finally, and he was thankful he wasn't drinking any water because he had a bad enough time nearly choking on air he breathed in.

There went the Alfred Jones Guarantee.

FUCK…FUCK… _FUCK_. That was definitely _not _what he was expecting. It's not like he'd even slipped up on a couple things—he could bear it if this Kirkland didn't have a comb over or perhaps had been leaning more on the thin side—but just bend him over right now and fuck him because this man was effing gorgeous. What on Earth was he doing here at a whorehouse?! He could be easily out there with any man or woman he wanted!

To say this man was attractive was a gross understatement. Alfred let his eyes trail up and down that fine piece of eye candy and found that their positions should've been reversed. He was doing all the checking out so far.

Mr. Kirkland had a fair, light complexion; his skin—oh hot damn, his _skin—_was more like porcelain than anything else. (Alfred couldn't find a single blemish or flaw on it.) His bright, piercing green eyes were narrowed and his black bushy brows knit as he ran along the Canadian next to him. (A Frenchman, a Canadian—Alfred couldn't help but roll his eyes. If he didn't know any better he would've believed this place was a global melting pot or the United Nations or something. Honestly.)

Contrasting his brows was a mop of disheveled, golden blonde hair.

It was when he turned to Alfred though that the big blue-eyed American thought his heart had come to a stop.

Alfred had never felt so coy in his life. He must've looked like an idiot as he shuffled around awkwardly; ripping his eyes shyly away from the customer as soon as they'd met. He suddenly felt so self-conscious. He _was_ a little chubby after all. He'd known that. Fuck it all, why had he stopped doing those ten daily pushups? Did he really need those two orders of fries the other day? Did he even bother to floss today? Pfft. That one was an obvious no. He never flossed.

He felt a firm but gentle grip on his chin and felt his face being turned toward Mr. Kirkland. He looked up longingly for a second before realizing what it was for. Kirkland was simply examining his face, nothing more. He couldn't help but fall just slightly at that.

_Get a hold of yourself you idiot, this isn't like you!_

The green-eyed man opened his mouth to speak only to be interrupted by the sound of the Frenchman beside him calling him over.

Oh hell. What had Alfred been thinking?! Of course he'd go for Francis. How stupid was he to forget something like that? He couldn't help the audible sigh escape his lips as he realized he might as well give up now.

"Oh, monsieur~" the French voice called seductively, popping loose one of his buttons to reveal more of his sculpted chest to the customer. "I'd show you the time of your life~" he whispered, giving a wink and beckoning the man over with his finger. This was a bit more effort than he usually showed. Under normal circumstances—circumstances under which Alfred Jones' Guarantee would've fit nicely: the man being bald, fat, and sporting a rather _sexy_ comb over and double chin—all it would've taken was a smile or perhaps just a wink. Francis must've noticed how attractive he was as well because he'd upped the ante tenfold. This made Alfred just about double screwed. _No_. Alfred thought he spotted the Frenchie lick his lips as well.

Triple screwed. Alfred was most definitely triple screwed. Francis would without a doubt take this customer and when he did Alfred would be left with what he'd assumed Kirkland to be in the first place…Well, unless today was "Sexy Blonde Bushy Browed Customer" Day. But Alfred wouldn't bet on it.

Alfred watched dejectedly as the man's eyes trailed over to him for a minute.

But then he did the unthinkable. "Shut it, frog." The customer snapped, stunning Alfred in more ways than one.

For starters, not only was this man undeniably attractive, now he was _British_ as well. That level of sex appeal might as well have been illegal. And then there was the whole denying Francis. Alfred had been here for quite some time and he'd never seen someone just out-and-out deny this shaggy-blonde prince-type character a go. In fact, he had customers begging for him out the rear end. So the fact that this man just flat out told him to shut up was startling.

Francis wasn't taking it well either. From the corner of Alfred's eye he could see him practically having a mini heart attack, his eyes bulging and blinking as if he hadn't quite caught that. He darted them left to right as if trying to translate those words he just heard in his head. Alfred had to stifle a small chuckle, knowing something like that must've never been said to him before.

The customer returned his focus to Alfred, granting him a small smirk.

"Name?" he asked, breaking the awkward or rather stunned silence in the room.

Alfred blinked, finding himself struggling to come up with it himself. Not once had he been like this with a customer and he felt the growing number of eyes on him as the seconds counted on. _Damn it! Had he forgotten his own name?! How pathetic!_

"A-Alfred." he said finally, clearing his throat.

"Well _Alfred_. I think I'll be booking you for the next year."

And with that, the shocked silence returned.

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**Welp, that was that :D I hope you sorta liked it ^^ Please review and tell me what you think. Once again, I can't begin to tell you how much I love reviews.**


	2. Chapter 2

** Hello! Yup, as predicted, I looked through my other chapter and I found a lot of typos and errors =-=. Oh well, hopefully this one isn't as bad. Sorry it took so long, I had some major writer's block going on. Luckily, your lovely, wonderful, amazing reviews kept me motivated ;D lol. Really though, you guys don't understand how much I love reading all your comments. They mean a lot! ****(****◕‿◕✿****)****Okay, so without further adieu, here's the next chapter! I hope you guys like it ^^**

**Dedicated to sasorilover7 for correcting typos/grammar errors/stupid mistakes xD**

2

"I do suggest you read this." Kirkland said quietly, giving the driver a small nod before reaching down and bringing out a stack of paper from his bag, setting it down gently on Alfred's lap.

The two of them had quickly relocated to his car outside as soon as everything had been settled with his boss. (Or, his pimp…he never really knew how to address him.) He was actually pretty effing surprised at just how easily he'd agreed to it all, but, you know, money can be pretty convincing.

Alfred sat there for a minute, baffled that he was getting a stack of paperwork when he was a _prostitute. _He wondered absentmindedly if prostitutes doubled as businessmen in England before leafing through the pages he'd received, his eyes just thoughtlessly running over the words, not really bothering to try to actually read them. He kept his eyes glued to them, sinking back into the seat before throwing a hesitant look over at his "owner".

"There's no way you've read through it all by now, Alfred. Please avert your eyes back to the papers. I can assure you it was more than just a suggestion, Alfred. Get to it."

He let out a small huff, but didn't argue. This was the man he was going to be aiming to please for an entire year. There was no use. And besides, just recently he'd been so happy to be chosen by someone so attractive. He had to remind himself that he could've been paired with someone a lot worse. He stacked the pages up in his lap and his eyes locked immediately on the bold, I-mean-business-print on the front: RULES. That's all it said. He chewed slightly annoyed at the inside of his cheek, thinking back to all the other slightly controlling customers he'd had before. He'd never really understood the whole "control" kink, but he didn't question. He was a prostitute; what he wanted didn't matter. He reminded himself that as he flipped to the next page.

Holy fuck did this man knew how to cram words. Alfred ran his eyes down at all the rules he'd listed and nearly did a double take (he even flipped through to see if the rest of the pages were the same. They were.). He could've guessed there were about seventy of them just on the first page, all crammed tight in probably a size two font. He'd never had a customer like this before, and he could only sit there, staring down, unsure how to take it all in. He cautiously began to read the first one off to himself, feeling his breath catch in his throat.

**No sexual contact ****whatsoever.**

He read it over just about twenty times, each time wondering if he'd misread it. This Kirkland was hiring a _whore_ for an entire year (how much money that must be costing him. Damn. Alfred didn't even want to fathom that) and he commanded him to have absolutely no "sexual contact" with him. He'd heard of stories of people hiring prostitutes just to talk, but fuck. An entire year of talking?! If this Kirkland costumer wanted a friend, Alfred could think of much less costly ways of obtaining one.

"Um…" he mumbled sheepishly, his finger tracing underneath each word. "I don't understand."

Kirkland didn't bother to look over, instead choosing to study the changing scenery outside the window. Alfred rolled his eyes, as if the passing McDonalds and Walmarts could really be all that fascinating. "What's there not to understand? Are you illiterate?"

Under normal circumstances, he'd be pissed. But, Alfred reminded himself, he was going to have to be with man for a year…he should really try to stay on good terms. Well, scratch that, he was still pissed.

"I know how to read." he snapped.

Kirkland threw a slightly amused look over his shoulder at the blue-eyed boy—who looked more like a stubborn child right now than anything—and gave him a small smirk. "Then get to it," is all he said before looking away again.

Bastard.

Alfred looked back down at the paper, running over the next line in his head. Truthfully, as much as he hated to admit it, he was a bit curious.

**Address me as Arthur.**

"Arthur." he mused out loud, as if responding to the paper's command.

"You called?" Arthur muttered, not bothering to look his way.

"So no sex, Artie?" he asked bluntly, obviously having never heard of tact in his life. (Not like he needed it in his business or anything…) Arthur nearly choked upon hearing that, his cheeks flushing at the mere mention of the word.

"Heavens no."

Alfred furrowed his brows at how disgusted he sounded, a bit hurt. "If you didn't want to do it, why did you hire me?"

"I have my reasons." he scoffed, whipping his head around.

Reasons…? It was at this moment and the moment precisely that Alfred began to chew nervously at his nails, a bad habit he'd never quite got over. He'd considered once or twice that this guy might've been one of those freaky ax murderer dudes that killed prostitutes or something, but now he kinda sorta _really_ thought it. He'd had the misfortune of watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre before—therapy for _months_—and he just about didn't trust anyone.

He'd shrugged the thought off though; this guy didn't look like the type to want to get his hands dirty.

**Refer to me as "love", "honey", etc. when talking. (Terms like "baby", "babe", and/or other variations of that word are ****NOT**** permissible).**

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on from all this thinking. Did this man want a boyfriend instead or something?! If that was the case, why had he blocked off all sexual contact "_whatsoever"_? And what exactly were his "reasons" for hiring him?

**Prepare three square meals a day for me as well as brewing and serving me Earl Grey tea. **

And with that, Alfred had to just set the whole thing down. He didn't know what the next year could possibly have in store for him—was he supposed to act as a friend, a lover, or a motherfucking _butler_?!

"I don't know how to make tea." he informed him through clenched teeth, unable to help but feel insulted at this whole thing. He was a whore, sure, but that didn't mean he would serve the man. Well, in other ways than he'd intended to initially, of course…

And to top it all off he didn't even _like_ tea.

"Ah, well that _is_ a problem. You'll have to learn fast, Alfred." Arthur said calmly, tapping his chin as he continued to stare outside.

"Why did you hire a prostitute for all this?" he demanded again, unable to help the bitter edge to his voice now.

"Cheaper, I suppose. Another butler would've cost more."

"So I'm supposed to act as your butler?!"

Arthur made an irritated "tut" noise and shook his head, acting more as if he was having to explain himself to an ignorant toddler than to someone of the same age.

"Not exactly. You are a whore after all, not a butler."

Alfred couldn't help but feel a slight pang in his chest at that. He knew he was a whore, he addressed himself as one, but when Arthur flat-out called him one he couldn't help feeling hurt.

"And yet you're not going to do anything with me. Why?"

There was a brief silence before Arthur let out a groan. "Well for starters I'm asexual so I don't bloody see why I'd want to do _anything_ with you."

…Heh? Alfred blinked, obviously not seeing that coming. He stared at him blankly, more confused now than he'd been before. It honestly made even less sense now than it had in the beginning.

"Asexual as in…?"

"Asexual as in I bloody could care less about either gender, yes. Now would you stop gaping at me, Alfred?"

Alfred shook his head, eyes wide. "This makes no sense, dude. I-If you're asexual, why did you go hire a—?"

"I believe you've already asked this." Arthur reminded him curtly.

"Y-Yeah, but you never did answer…"

Arthur looked down at his clasped together hands, squeezing his eyes closed and letting out another sigh before speaking up.

"You seem like a boy that fancied playing make believe as a child, correct?" he asked, veering off into an entirely new subject.

Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but found himself too confused to make any sounds come out. He instead ran over the question in his mind, thinking back to himself as a child, running around with a makeshift cape in the backyard. He'd always been so convinced he'd be someone people looked up to—which, in this case, he was positive he'd be Captain America. Everyone would look up to him then. Funny, if only he knew how his life would turn out.

"I guess so. Why?"

"Think of this as one big game of make believe, Alfred. From this day forth, for one year, you're going to be Alfred Jones. Not a prostitute, but my long-term, live-in boyfriend. You met me at college and we fell in love at first sight…as awfully and dreadfully cliché as that sound. I'm still working out the whole thing..." he rambled off.

Alfred blinked back at him, unable to get a word out as the car came to a sudden stop.

He looked outside, shocked to see a rather plain, ordinary house. If you'd had asked him from the get-go what he expected to find, he would've told you a mansion or some sort of an estate. The possibility that this Arthur lived in a normal house was downright something that had never once crossed his mind.

"Well," Arthur started, resting his face on his hand. "Do you accept?"

Alfred swallowed hard, knowing he really didn't have much choice in the matter anyway being in his position. He looked back at the Englishman and gave him a small nod, returning his gaze back down at his feet.

"Very well then Alfred, _let's begin."_ Arthur smirked.

**Yay! Chapter two completed! Please, please, please review and tell me what you think/leave suggestions ^^ **


	3. Chapter 3

**Writer's block. Writer's block. Writer's block. I swear I spent like thirty minutes staring at a blank word document. Oh well, eventually words came and I was able to get this chapter finished xD**

**Oh, I did want to address a couple comments that I received really quick. A couple people had problems with the "lack of sexing" and the "asexuality" thing, but firstly I want to assure you that there will be sex later (just because dense old Artie wrote down in his Rules that they weren't going to "do it" doesn't make that set in stone) and the reason I did this this way is that I actually want this story to have more of a plot than just sex. The characters will develop, and things will change. Which brings me to my second point, about the "asexuality", Cheese-kun put it nicely when they said that "a person lacking a sexual drive may identify themselves as asexual, but it doesn't have to be permanent". The romance won't be immediate, but we will get there my friends :D Be patient! And once again, please please please please reply. You guys make my day with every review :'D**

**Dedicated to sasorilover7 again for being my wonderful editor! ^-^ And coming up with the very last line Alfred says. O-O That was like gold. Thank you! :3**

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3

Alfred shivered lightly as he adjusted to the warm air around him.

Things looked…_ homey. _The room walking in to his right was littered with photographs (Alfred couldn't quite make out the people in them but they all appeared to be smiling) and odd trinkets, complete with high arched windows and a big, brick fireplace in the middle of the room. His eyes trailed down, looking from the matching grey loveseats to the oval red rug. He couldn't help but envision himself sitting by the fire on one of the sofas— a cup of something hot in his hand—probably hot chocolate; he loved hot chocolate—just watching the fire crackle and fog up the glass. He watched quietly as Arthur shut the door behind him, locking it up and setting his keys down on the top of the wooden chester cabinet next to him.

Alfred couldn't help but feel slightly at peace standing there, feeling as he had escaped the harsh winter winds and snow falling outside. The forecaster, he'd remembered, had predicted this week to be fairly chilly…and hell, he thought he heard something about a blizzard, too, coming up later on…something that immediately put Alfred in a sour mood.

With his job he ever really had to go outside, but still. The very idea that cold brisk winds were blowing and raging just outside his walls made him scowl.

Winter, if you knew Alfred long enough, you would most definitely know, was Alfred's least favorite season. He hated bundling up in so many layers and he hated his teeth chattering and his body shivering. (If things were up to him he would spend the entire winter months curled up in a blanket burrito hybernating.) And he hated the damn snow, too.

He chalked it up to having lived so long in Detroit. Ever since he was a young boy he remembered being subject to snow shoveling. His mother would harp at him early in the morning and he'd drag himself out there into the driveway with a shovel (in so many layers Alfred literally found it hard to move his arms) and he'd try to get rid of it all. Not only was it hard work, but being the natural-born complainer that he was, he'd whine and complain after for hours on end just how much the wind hurt his cheeks and how the _fucking snow could go_ _fuck itself because next time he was totally not going to g__o out to shovel it._ And it also didn't help that it wasn't necessarily pretty snow either. Not really that _any _snow in his mind was, but this, he had to admit, was the worst.

The snow around his house was, or might as well have been, dirty black slush. The very sight of it had slowly but surely put him off from the entire winter months as a whole. He did have to remind himself though that _well_, there _was_ still Christmas after all to look forward to. But honestly, that was the only perk he could get out of the entire wintertime season. The rest of winter could kiss his ass.

"Shed off your jacket." Arthur commanded, outstretching his hand toward the other blonde and breaking Alfred from his thoughts.

Alfred blinked, not expecting that, but nevertheless quickly peeled off his coat (not that his customers were usually nice, but hell, this wasn't a normal customer though. Was it?), handing it to the smaller man with an awkward, forced smile. He rubbed at his arms with it off, trying to warm himself up…which, really, didn't make much sense to him because he was inside now, so why in the hell he was still cold was beyond him.

Arthur shook it twice getting the snow off of it and placed it on the rack.

Stretching, he took his off as well while he was at it and kicked off his shoes—which, Alfred just about had to fight the urge to gag, had been a pair of Penny Loafers. Alfred tried to mumble out a "thank you" for taking his coat but Arthur simply held up a finger in the air, silencing him.

"Don't say another word. Just stand over there." He told him, pointing to the wall in the room just next to them.

Alfred stared at him for a moment but obliged, standing where he'd told him to. He watched as Arthur scurried over to a bag strewn out on the loveseat, a black messenger-type thing, and fished out of it a small, pocket-sized red notepad and a number two pencil, walking back over to Alfred and looking him over inquiringly. He looked exactly the same as he had selecting him out from the rest of the men, his eyes over-analyzing and narrowed. Too be frank, they were kind of scary.

Arthur got in close, almost uncomfortably so, and lifted Alfred's chin up, his piercing green eyes running over his face slowly. "Hmm…" he mumbled, roughly turning Alfred's face to either side, examining him like he was a piece of meat. His gaze trailed up from his lips to his eyes to back down again and he drew back finally, jotting something down.

His pencil glided back and forth on the paper, and he appeared deep in thought. Every once and a while, Alfred watched as he paused and bit his bottom lip, his eyes darting back and forth on the page as if struggling to come up with something. These small breaks didn't seem to last long because before Alfred knew it, he was back at it again.

The dude mumbled to himself too, Alfred noted. More than twice he thought he heard him say something under his breath like "fair-skinned" or "childlike". He didn't really know just what in the hell he was talking about, but he didn't question it. He figured it was probably for the best if he just stood there and let the Brit continue to do just whatever the heck he was so absorbed in right now.

He watched as the Englishman paused again, this time looking really stumped. His lips curled back into a frown and he let out an irritated "tut" as if something had evaded him. "Hmm," he mumbled again, looking down at the paper in his hand and then back up at Alfred once more. "Your eyes." he said finally, his voice expressionless. "What color would you say they are?"

Alfred stared back at him like he had asked him to locate Bolivia on a map. (Which, for the record, he probably couldn't do being that the man had just as much trouble locating Canada).

"Blue." he told him flatly, not really understanding what he was getting at with all of this.

Arthur's face fell and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bloody hell, like I don't know _that_! Be more specific."

The American cocked a brow but went to thinking anyway, running over in his mind just all the different types of blues he knew…though, he found with a scowl, were very limited. "Sky blue," he said finally.

Arthur let out a loud groan. "No. That's too-…that won't work." he muttered. He mulled it over again in his head, rubbing his temples irritably before at last looking up with a wide grin, snapping his fingers. "Ah, got it. Cerulean!"

Alfred stared at him, not sure if he should be congratulating him or something when he honestly wasn't even sure why his eye color mattered.

"Erm…what's that for?" Alfred tried; his voice quiet and just barely audible to Arthur's ears.

Arthur shook his head, scrawling the word "cerulean" down in his journal and then slamming it shut. "If you'd had read through the rules completely, you'd see another one is 'don't ask unnecessary questions'."

Alfred let out a stubborn "hmmph!", but decided it would be best if he didn't press any further. He instead looked down at his feet, not saying a word.

There was a brief period of awkward silence between the two before Arthur cleared his throat, throwing a look over his shoulder and then back at the _cerulean blue_-eyed boy standing there in front of him. "_Well_," he said, placing a hand on either side of his hips, "let's see if we can't get you situated then."

He let out a sigh, beckoning the American man to follow as he guided him up a series of steps and down the hall.

All the while Alfred couldn't help but notice that the walls were painted a deep shade of green—he couldn't help but think that they were the same color as Arthur's eyes.

"Here it is." Arthur mumbled under his breath, opening up a door at the end of the hall with a creak and flickering on the lights. The room lit up after a moment, the bulbs giving it a sort of green tint, and suddenly a small, twin sized bed and desk worked their way out of the darkness.

"It's not an awful lot." he continued, walking in and gesturing to the rather empty room around him. "But it's not that bad."

Alfred set down his small tote bag—it was funny, really, he didn't really have much to his name, did he? Nothing that couldn't be stored in a small bag—and gave Arthur a shrug.

"It's okay," he told him with a small smile. "I don't need much room, really." _Well if you look past the fact that the doorway was almost too short for me, then sure…_

"Very well then. I'll leave you to…er…unpacking. I don't think I'll require much of you today, so if you need me—which you won't—I'll be in my bedroom. I'll advise you right now though that I don't want you disrupting me unless the house is burning down. Got it?"

Alfred had to stifle in a snort at that and he gave the man a thumbs-up. "You got it, Iggy." he said with a smile, instantly regretting the words that left his mouth as soon as he saw the man's reaction.

"What was that that you called me?"

"Erm…I-Iggy." Alfred answered sheepishly, realizing that he may or may not be in some deep shit for this. This man didn't look like the nickname-appreciating sort of dude.

"What does that—? How did you even come up with that, you git?"

Alfred scratched sheepishly at his back neck. "Well, you're English…so I um… 'England'…. 'Iggy'…It's just…" he rambled.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're so weird." he muttered under his breath, dismissing the boy with a shake of his head and leaving the room.

"Well I'm not the only one Mr. Writes-Everything-Down-In-A-Notebook." Alfred muttered under his breath once he was sure he was gone.

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Yay! Chapter 3 completed! :3 Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Managed to crank out another chapter! Y-Yeeaaah, I know certain elements might be sorta cliché, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless! This chapter has Arthur's POV in the beginning, too ^^ So I tried to explain a bit more to the readers then what Alfred knows himself. Anyway, I really do love reading your reviews so please tell me what you think! I read every one and they all make me so happy :3! They're really the only reason I feel motivated to write more chapters.**

**On a side note, I hope this chapter didn't turn out that stupid ;-;**

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5:16 P.M. Arthur's Room

Arthur flipped lazily through his papers, his eyes not lingering on one detail he'd written more than the other. This man was perfect. He would work perfectly. He'd known this from the get-go, but the more he saw him, the more he was assured.

He was human. He was so wonderfully, delightfully human that he would fit so nicely. He would be a hit, Arthur was sure.

He sat himself down in front of his laptop, his fingers drumming happily at first against the keyboard. After a moment or so though, he backspaced everything he'd written. Bloody writer's block, he thought bitterly, staring at the taunting white screen. He wanted to write, he really did, but he found nothing could come out…or, at least, nothing good.

He hadn't been quite sure he'd find anyone in the beginning, certainly not in a whorehouse, but something beyond him had convinced him it'd be a good place to pick. And he was glad. He hadn't known this man for more than an hour, but he knew from the moment he'd opened his trap that he had a refreshing normalcy to him. He was normal, yet odd, and such a combination that he knew he would sell.

Ha, of course he would sell. He was a prostitute.

Arthur tried again, skipping intros and going straight into the description. Blue…hmm, what shade did he say worked again? Cerulean? Ah, yes, cerulean. They really were something. Not that Arthur was taken by them, oh hell no, but his editor would most likely be and so would his audience.

_The man stood nervously at the bus __stop—his bright, blue cerulean eyes batting curiously at his surroundings and his soft pink lips puffed out in almost a childlike pout. He was lost, he knew he was, and he fumbled around with the bag in his hand sheepishly. Today would be his first day at __college and he would be late._

Ah, yes! Perfect! His fingers continued to hit the keys, pleased with the words that were spilling out. It was rare that Arthur felt himself in the zone, but he, most definitely, was right now. Though he wasn't really sure at the moment where he was going with this. Would the character be extremely scared about missing class or…? He sighed, deciding he'd cross other bridges when he got there.

He didn't know much about this man, but he was definitely a wonderful source of inspiration, and when this was all over, he'd definitely have to thank him (pffsht. If he ever told him about this) and—

_THUD. THUD. SQUEEEEEEK._

Arthur blinked, suddenly ripped from his thoughts. There was a moment of silence and Arthur almost shrugged it off before another loud squeak quickly followed. 'Where the bloody hell does that wanker think he's going?!' he wondered angrily, no longer able to concentrate.

He hit save and got up.

* * *

5:14 P.M. Alfred's Room

Alfred was never a man to be confined and to be frank, the more he was looking around the drab, empty, room around him, the more he started to associate it with a prison cell. Of course with his job, his life pretty much was _in_ the bedroom_, _but that room had had color. He'd decorated it to the T with as much as he could (well as much as his boss/pimp allowed)—he'd even gotten the a okay to tape glow-in-the-dark stars up on his ceiling (which surprisingly enough didn't earn any complaints from the customers about feeling like they were in a five-year-old's bedroom).

This was just…_suffocating._

He considered the Englishman's words carefully. The bro had said he couldn't go to _his bedroom_; he never said anything else about the rest of the house. Besides, he was sort of hungry. It would really suck if your prostitute (or whatever the hell he was acting as now) just dropped dead of hunger, right? So jacking a couple Hot Pockets from his freezer wouldn't be too much to ask for, right? It seemed like a fairly logical justification to him.

He swung his legs one last time off the edge of his bed before rising to his feet, walking over and peeking out of his door. He did a quick left-to-right scan before deciding the coast was clear and slowly tiptoeing out. N-Not like he was being secretive or anything! He was just going to get something to eat, for Pete's sake! He reminded himself this, but couldn't help biting hard down on his bottom lip and cringing at every loud creak the floor gave out at his weight. N-Not like he was all _that _fat either…

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-

The kitchen was easy enough to find. Round the corner and down the stairs and he found a large space with an island counter top and black expensive-looking furniture. He didn't know much about cooking or the kitchen, but from all the top-notch looking items, he figured this man must've been a master chef or something. He had enough different types of kitchen knives to either be a true cook…or to be a crazy, knife-wielding homicidal maniac that only drug prostitutes back to his home to kill them and then cook them up and—

Happy thoughts, Alfred. Happy thoughts.

He gripped the top freezer door, throwing an odd look over at what appeared to be a dark black burn mark by the stove. Cooking accident? He wondered absentmindedly before shrugging it off, looking back inside to whatever goodies might be waiting for him.

_Hot Pockets, Hot Pockets, Hot Pockets, Hot Pocke—_

What the _fuck_ was that? Alfred blinked at the hoards of frozen vegetables and soups and felt his face drop. Brussels Sprouts?! Really? And that much of them?

He scowled, shutting the freezer door and hoping that perhaps the refrigerator could save him.

He scanned the interior, searching for anything possibly edible. A big pitcher of tea, an odd assortment of jellies and jams, and some other boring, unappetizing items. Heh…

He was just about to give up all hope before his eyes locked on a seemingly fresh batch of brownies—a whole plate of rich brownish black sweets sealed up with some Saran wrap. Score.

He pulled it out with ease, plucking off what was keeping him from his goodies, and selecting the biggest one. He savored it first with his eyes before bringing it up to his lips, taking a small bite of it. What was supposed to be a chocolately rush of brownie goodness was a pure taste of burnt, rock-hard hell.

He winced at the horrible taste, bringing it away from his mouth and then trying to wipe the taste off of his tongue with the sleeve of his shirt. "Blech!" he groaned, suddenly taking everything back about this man being a master chef. "This sucks!"

He wouldn't even feed his dog this. To be honest, he thought, that might classify under "animal abuse".

"Excuse you?" a British voice snapped from his right, the bushy-browned owner of the voice tapping his foot impatiently and glaring at the American from the doorway.

Alfred gave him a sheepish, guilty smile and set the plate down delicately on the countertop. Shit! Wasn't this man supposed to be in his room or something, jotting some crap down in his notebook?! What luck.

"Sup?" he asked nonchalantly, not meeting his eyes.

Arthur was having none of it. "I'll have you know I made those." he spat.

"A-Ah? Really? Cool bro. Real cool." Alfred stammered, giving him a thumbs-up. "I can't cook at all…heh heh…um….y-yeah, I was just sorta hungry and I didn't want to bug you and all, since you said not to, so I sorta helped myself to…"

"To my gross food?" the Brit finished bitterly for him.

"Y-Yeah!" Alfred agreed, before realizing just _what_ he agreed to. "I mean _no_! H-Hell no! Your food isn't g-gross!"

"But 'it sucks'." He reminded him, using air parentheses as he spoke.

"I-I said…" Alfred started, swallowing hard. "I said…w-well, _shucks_, _isn't this good_?!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Whatever. That's not even the only reason I came in here you git."

Alfred stayed silent, waiting for him to explain himself. Or, rather, at this point, _hoping._

"For one, you're being awfully loud, which throws my whole concentration off. It's pretty hard to do your job with you making a racket. And for two, I need one more little tidbit from you." he said, crossing his arms and staring at him.

"Y-Yeah?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "What would you do if you were late to class on your first day?"

After roughly five minutes of awkward blinking and silence on Alfred's part, Arthur let out an audible sigh. "Forget it. I'll just wing it…"

"Wing _what_?!"

Arthur scowled. "I do not believe I'm inclined to tell you. You're just a prostitute." And with a huff, he stormed off.

Alfred flipped him off when he was sure he couldn't see him and turned around, throwing a look over at the crime-to-cooking behind him.

_Well_, he though with a sigh, _I guess I'm not all _that_ hungry._

* * *

Lame chapter ending is lame. Oh well, hopefully the next one will be better :3


	5. Chapter 5

**I loved reading all of your reviews! :3 But I do have to give a special shout-out to DandylionFields who got the true meaning of the title xD**

**It's like a really lame pun because Alfred was booked by Arthur, but also Arthur is writing a _book_ about him...So "Booked"...hahah...ha..ha...;-; Yeah, I know I'm not funny...**

**Um. Yeah, not much else to say. This chapter really hated me in the beginning. I literally didn't think I was going to ever get it finished. But alas, I did. It's sorta stupid, but it's fluffy. Half of it is probably just mindless fluff. **

**Oh and once again thanks to my editor sasorilover7, because I sorta really bugged her about this chapter .;...like, a lot.**

**Anyhoo, I hope you like it, and please, please, please, please review! e3e I need inspiration. Trust me, without all your wonderful reviews, I probably would've just given up on this chapter.**

* * *

This had been the seventh bloody time.

The first two times he could excuse, but the seventh time this git poked his head in through the door and gave him that sheepish, "oh-no-you-caught-me" grin, Arthur just about blew a gasket.

Sleep had sounded so heavenly when he first closed his eyes, but he knew it was all but impossible now.

"Alfred." he addressed him through clenched teeth. "This is the last bloody time I'm going to tell you. There are _no_ ghosts in your room. Go back to bed."

It was a simple command, one that Arthur was positive that a seven year old—no, not even a seven-year-old, a _gerbil—_could follow. And yet it was proving to be far too difficult for this overgrown kid to comprehend. What was this childish "ghost" business even all about in the first place?!

"B-But Artie—I mean, _A-Arthur_ …y-you don't understand!" he whispered at the doorway, shuffling around uneasily. He threw the Brit a pleading look, not about to go back to that hell room anytime soon. He knew—he _KNEW—_he'd seen something floating over his bed. You couldn't tell this American he hadn't seen something. Okay, hell, he hadn't been wearing his glasses at the time, and things had been just a smidge blurry, but that didn't stop him from knowing what he saw, dammit!

This room looked pretty safe.

"Please?" he tried again, not really about to just take no for an answer.

"What did I tell you about coming to my room?" Arthur countered, honestly this close to yelling "sod off!" and slamming the door in his face.

Alfred ran it over in his head, remembering with a nervous chuckle. Perhaps he should've set fire to the house first, huh?

"You won't even know I'm in here." he begged, inching slightly into the room already.

Arthur glared at him, already beginning to try to rub away the oncoming headache. "You're already failing at that."

The blue-eyed boy swallowed hard, searching through his mind frantically for something—_anything_—he could use.

Bingo.

"I'll shovel the entire driveway!" he bargained, thinking he'd struck gold with that.

The Englishman didn't look as amused. "I could bloody well have you do that anyway." he reminded him with a scowl, ultimately bursting the American's bubble.

There was a brief silence, Alfred looking down pathetically at his feet, beginning to rock slightly on his heels. "P-Please?" he whimpered finally, giving a sniffle and working up some crocodile tears.

Arthur looked up with a groan, honestly a little impressed at this man's kicked-puppy impersonation. _It's rather good_, he thought to himself dryly, _they might as well give him a role on Broadway._

"Fine. Get your bloody arse in here and shut the door." he gave in, not even bothering to hide the bitter edge and venom to his voice.

Alfred didn't hesitate a moment longer, quickly running in and plopping down on his bed, reaching out to crawl under the covers.

"What makes you think you're sleeping in my bed?" the words stopped Alfred mid-action and he looked over at the bushy-browed man with a scowl. Okay, so this man was going to be a dick and make him sleep on the cold, hard floor, wasn't he? Alfred considered ignoring him and slipping into bed anyway, but knew he better listen to avoid being kicked out.

"S-Should I sleep on the ground?" he asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

The other didn't even dignify that with an answer, instead throwing the spare pillow next to him onto the floor before drifting off into sleep.

_Arthur didn't __know why, didn't know how, but this starry-eyed boy at his feet belonged to him. His arms reached out and he embraced the child, cradling him in his arms. The field around him swayed with the wind and the day began to die out over the horizon, the ghost of__ the sun looming in the distance. The night was approaching and approaching fast._

_ "Arfffur." the boy called to him childishly, his bright baby blue _cerulean_ eyes fluttering._

_ He reminded him an awful lot of someone, but Arthur couldn't pinpoint who._

_ "_Arthurrr_." the child tried again, desperate to get the Brit's attention, his chubby baby fingers tugging at his shirt, and to the man's disbelief, beginning to stretch out and grow. "Arthur."_

_ Arthur watched dumbstruck as the boy began forming into a man befo__re his eyes— still very childish, still tugging with all his might at his shirt to try to get him to pay attention. His limbs grew and he quickly shed his baby fat, morphing into a man taller than him, piercing eyes hidden behind a frame of glasses, his li__ps tugged down into a deep scowl._

_ "Jerk." he mumbled to him now, turning around to run away._

_ He blinked, suddenly recognizing him. "A-Alfred! Come back!" he called out desperately, but it was too late. The man had left._

Arthur awoke with a start, his heart thumping loudly against his chest. What the bloody hell had _that_ been? He was just about to throw a look over at the git in question to see if he was still on the floor when he realized something. There were _arms_ wrapped around his waist. He glanced over his shoulder curiously, noticing a drooling boy behind him, squeezing him like he was some sort of bloody teddy bear or something.

"Heh…heh…heh~…" Alfred chuckled softly in his sleep, giving him another tight squeeze.

"M-Mmph!" Arthur yelped, his insides being squished at the wanker's tight embrace. "Get off of me!" he snapped at him finally, wriggling around in his arms and fighting to break free. Unfortunately for him, the drooling boy was a pretty sound sleeper. "I. Said. Get. _Off!_" he tried again, finally evoking a response from him.

"H-Huh?" the American mumbled quietly in response, his eyes batting open slowly.

"No one told you that you could just bloody crawl up here!" The Brit scowled back at his confused face, using his confusion as a chance to slip out of his arms.

"I g-guess I musta' sleepwalked…?" Alfred mumbled back sleepily, wiping at his eyes with his sleeves and sitting up. He looked so completely _child-like_ that Arthur couldn't help but soften just a tad. Not saying he was off the bloody hook or anything though…

"Shouldn't you be shoveling snow right now?" he suggested to him finally with a groan, clearing his throat and turning away from him.

Oh shit, shit, shit! Alfred smacked his forehead, completely forgetting about that stupid slip-up he'd made earlier. Stupid him; he'd promise anything in the moment! He stayed quiet for a moment, hoping that maybe if he didn't respond, the dude would just forget about it.

He didn't.

"The shovel's in the garage." Arthur continued flatly, throwing a bitter look back over at him.

"I'll get to it." he grumbled in reply, crawling off the bed and walking back to his room to go bundle up in as many layers as he could before bracing the hellish weather outside.

A small smile lit up Arthur's features as he quickly reached for his laptop.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It only took a minute before Alfred was absolutely positive he couldn't feel his nose anymore. He pushed half-heartedly at the heaps and piles of snow around him, silently mourning the loss of his nose. He'd miss it, and all the delicious, wonderful smells he'd come to love over the years. He'd miss the smell of hamburgers the most, he decided, too over-dramatic for his own good half the time.

He was almost too preoccupied with his self pity to notice that British dude staring at him from the window, typing something up—probably musing over his hair color now—and sipping on something that from where Alfred stood looked _warm._

He stuck his tongue out at him childishly, but quickly put it back in his mouth, not wanting it to freeze and fall off out here. He wasn't sure how cold it was out here, but it was cold _enough. _That much he was sure of.

Unbeknownst to him, he had absolutely no idea how much of an inspiration he was being right now, just from the other side of the window. Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at his behavior, his fingers typing furiously against the keyboard. He was absolutely perfect for his character. Screw tall, dark, and handsome, he could tell right now he'd gain a following over this blue-eyed, dopey and, for lack of a better word, complete _goober_ out there shoveling snow.

Arthur brought up his drink once more to his lips, doing his best to jot all this wonderful behavior down. At this point, he'd already decided to switch the name up. Not too much, just "Alfie" seemed appropriate.

_Alfie puffed out his cheeks in a pout, pushing around the snow in the driveway. He stared up at the object of his affections and noticed him doing the same in the house over. "Hey!" he called, waving h__is arms frantically. The man shot a look over at him but rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his work. "I said _hey!"_ he tried again, sticking out his tongue childishly._

Alfred looked up from where he stood, noticing a huge grin—a huge, _smug _grin—form on the Englishman's lips as he stared down at his laptop. Curse him for being so warm.

He reached down, forming a perfectly round ball of snow in his hands; he fiddled with it a little, trying to get it just right, before chucking it over at the Brit's window.

It hit the glass, but it hadn't been loud enough to get his attention.

Alfred scowled, quickly forming three more, and hurling them over again, one after the other.

That did it.

Arthur looked up finally, noticing three balls of snow smash into the glass. They didn't do any damage; thank God it was snow and not a bunch of baseballs or anything, but still. He glared over at him.

All that git did was stick out his tongue again and beckon him out with his finger.

Oh, was he in for it, he thought, throwing on a coat and heading out.


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter will probably be the biggest fail ever OTL. I procrastinated like all week on writing and when I finally sat down and decided "you know what? I'm going to write words!" ****everything I wrote came out pretty stupid. I'm sorry if this chapter makes you cringe or if it's like the worst snowball fight/….er **_**moment**_** ever.**

**Okay. That's enough**** of me complaining!**

**And this is dedicated to one of my reviewers, Jocelyn, for giving me the idea for the chapter****…oh, and my wonderful editor, sasorilover7, too! :D**

**Please review! ;_; You don't have to write me a paragraph or anything (though I do really like those ._.), just tell me what you ****think!**** I really appreciate it!**

**OH! :D And I'm also extremely happy that I reached 100 followers! :'D You guys are wonderful.**

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6

Arthur's teeth chattered as he threw open the door, a shiver running through him and chilling him to the very bone. He could feel the frigid air soaking in through his clothes and he ground his teeth together to get through it. Under other, normal circumstances—circumstances in which that annoying, headache-inducing Alfred hadn't thrown things at his window, which ultimately could've broken the glass, mind you!—he might've felt bad for the blonde haired arse for having to stay out here for so long. But no. He felt no sympathy for him now. The wanker deserved much, much worse.

Arthur wasn't _fond_ of snow; in his acid green eyes snow was nothing more than freezing cold rain. If there was anything this Englishman hated more than the French, it was rain. In fact, "loathed" was more appropriate, not hate… But like hell was he going to let a little snow stop his from showing that git a good what for!

He clutched stubbornly at his thick jacket, tromping out into the driveway, his eyes locking onto the wide, childish grin directed at him. Oh bloody hell how that smile irritated him; this boy just had such a way with crawling under his skin. He noticed the grinning boy was poised to strike already as if he'd been preparing for this as soon as Arthur had gotten up.

_'Cute.' _he thought sarcastically, flashing the American a grin of his own_. _He leaned down, cupping up a handful of snow in his palms—which were freezing by the way, he honestly should've stuck on a pair of gloves—and began to mold it into shape. He packed it tight, holding it up slowly to aim towards him.

He was stopped dead in his tracks as a snowball came whirling straight at his face.

"You took too long!" a higher pitched, somewhat nasally voice chided, belonging to no one other than the boy in front of him.

Oh. _Oh. _Arthur could feel his blood begin to boil.

"I-I wasn't bloody ready yet!" he stammered.

Alfred smirked, the man couldn't have honestly thought he'd wait until they were both ready, could he? What would he have them do? Line up?

Heh._ Europeans_. He thought before pulling out another perfectly round ball from behind his back.

"Fine!" the Brit scoffed, deciding he wouldn't play fair from this point forth either. "I'll show you!" He chucked the packed snow over at him, watching with a scowl as it all-too-soon broke apart in the air…Oh, hell. The snow wasn't the only thing that broke apart; Arthur could've sworn he threw his pride along with it.

If Alfred had even _attempted_ to stifle his snicker, Arthur couldn't tell. The boy broke out into a childish string of laughter, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He dabbed away at them halfheartedly, too busy slapping his knee to concentrate on much else.

"Your snowballs sorta suck, Artie!" the blue-eyed man-boy teased between fits of laughter. "Like _a lot_."

"They do _not!_" Arthur snorted; noticing with a bit of relief the American had finally calmed down and stopped laughing.

There was a brief period of silence before Alfred's grin widened, his bright, narrowed eyes being filled with a mischievous glint.

"Then come at me again, bro." he suggested with a wink.

The wink is what did it. There was no way in all of hell he was going to let some idiot get the better of him. Or…erm…get the better of him for a second time. But that wasn't important!

Alfred watched, glad his little plan was working. He totally didn't want to finish up this stupid driveway, he'd much rather have a little fun…

And hurling balls of ice over at that stuffy Briton was pretty fucking fun.

Before he knew it, the other blonde was gathering as much snow in his arms as possible. Screw strategy! He'd tried to strategize earlier, and look where the bloody hell that got him! He'd settled now for a frantic, almost somewhat frenzied approach. He'd just throw as much as he possible could and whatever hit, hit.

Alfred easily dodged all of his attacks, whipping just out of reach for every hit. Arthur watched with a growing grimace as Alfred slipped away coolly each time, his hands burrowed in his pockets as if this whole thing was far too easy. Child's play. That's exactly what this arse was making it look like.

"Take it like a man!" Arthur growled hurling more and more at him, growing significantly more pissed the longer this charade was taking. The fact he couldn't even get him _once_ was doing nothing for his already deflated ego.

"Can't catch me!" he shot back, picking up some more snow of his own and tossing them at him. Luckily enough for him, he had always had good aim. _Great _aim, really.

He got him every time.

"Hey, Arts-a-lot. I'm sure if you give up now I'll go easy on you!" he called, sticking his tongue out at him and pulling down under his eye.

"Quit being a git!" Arthur snarled back, finally hitting him (much to both parties' shock) right smack dab in the face. The impact sent him stumbling backward, eyes wide. "D-Dude!"

"What was that about giving up?" The Englishman wondered aloud, a smirk plastering itself on his lips. He didn't back down so easily, throwing more snowballs at him rapid fire.

"F-Fine! If you want to tango, bro, let's tango!" Alfred snorted, running behind the car—thank God it was a nice one, he had a lot to cover him—and building a fort. Okay, okay, it wasn't the best fort out there, but it did the job. He crouched behind the little snow wall he built, forming as much ammo as he could.

He peaked up over at the confused Brit, launching a ball over the car and straight into the side of his face.

"Score one for me! Zero for Mr. Notebook!" he giggled.

"You git, what the hell?!" the bushy-browed Englishman retorted, storming over to go put an end to this once and for all. "We'll see who wins this!"

"Dude, I'm not psychic, but I already know I'm going to kick your ass."

Arthur grew even angrier at that, running over now to go kick _his _arse. That would definitely put him in his place. He stormed over, being hit every time by the git's snowballs.

"Bro, you're not even trying not to suck. I swear, with as good at sucking as you're doing now, I'm surprised _you're_ not the prosti—" Alfred stopped midsentence, his eyes growing huge as he watched the Englishman begin to slip.

Arthur had felt as soon as he'd started running towards him, just how slippery the ground was. All the snowballs chucked at his head must've made him lose all sight of reasoning because he had kept at it.

Gee. This day just kept getting better and better.

He'd known the moment he'd tripped that it wouldn't be a necessarily _hard_ fall, just an extremely awkward one.

He was right.

Oh, shit. Oh shit. _Oh shit! _Why had Artie waited to slip until he was close enough to send Alfred falling too?! Was this some part of his plan or something?

By the time Alfred noticed him falling and had mentally used every curse word he knew in his head, he was already being toppled over, landing hard down onto the ground.

He was thankful the snow provided some cushioning at all.

Arthur felt himself send the American falling down onto the ground underneath him, hearing a loud, audible curse—"_Fuck!"_—and then…and then something absolutely wonderful and horrible and just all around painfully awkward happened.

His lips pressed together with Alfred's.

Something he'd been struggling with coming up with for quite a while came hurling at him all at once and the words just _came_. Everything about this scene was just so crystal clear now. He wanted nothing more than to just pick up a pencil right now and _write._

Soft, slightly moist lips pressed up against his own, an awkward exchange of breath between them. His mouth parted slightly, baby blue eyes staring upward at him, a light smatter of pink on the boy's cheeks.

This scene was too much for him. It was something he knew he'd probably never get again…and frankly, now that he was in this position, it would be so easy to get more from him! Just a little bit more, all he needed was to understand the kiss.

He quickly darted his tongue into the boy's mouth, reminding himself it was only for the book. He almost pulled back out of shock when he heard a small noise work up from the American's throat. Was that…? Y-Yeah, that most definitely was a moan of some sort. He kept going, letting his tongue wrestle with the other's if only half-heartedly.

He let himself stay in that position for a moment, soaking in every phrase, every delicious adjective from that mouth before he blinked, feeling himself being pushed off suddenly.

"D-Dude…er…" was all Alfred found he could say, honestly pretty shocked he'd thrown the Brit off like that. He chastised himself for it mentally, reminding himself he wasn't in the position to do things like that. Technically, this man right there was allowed to do whatever he wanted to him…even if he'd told him he didn't want to do anything like that. But still…h-he found he was getting too flustered to…to even make sense of anything! He had to have done _something!_ "I…um…"

Arthur swallowed hard, feeling his stomach tie in knots. That had been a bit out of line, hadn't it? "A-Alfred…I…" he started shyly, feeling awkward.

Before he had a chance to finish, Alfred had already scrambled to his feet. "I sh-should get finished with this driveway!" he stammered.

Arthur would have to apologize for it at some point, but not now. He had so much more to write.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! ^^ I noticed my last chapter was sort of confusing because I kept switching perspectives, so I tried not doing it with this chapter. Sorry if this chapter's a little short too, I was having a mild case of writer's block. I did manage to add some new characters into this chapter though! Can you guess who they are? XD**

**Please tell me what you like, what you don't like, etc. etc x3 I love reviews so much so it would be amazing if you guys could write one for this chapter too eue; I enjoy favorites and follows, but reviews keep me motivated.**

**Oh, and I also sort of realized that I mainly update on Sunday nights xD I guess I have an update schedule set up already and I didn't even know? Let's see if I can keep it up lol**

**((Dedicated to my wonderful editor, sasorilover7 *~* This chapter needed work e_e))**

* * *

It was the _fifth _time that Arthur heard that incessant ringing that he gave up all hope of getting any bloody work done. Whoever the bastard was, he was too damn persistent for Arthur's liking.

He'd tried the first four times to just ignore them, no matter how pesky the telemarketer, they eventually had to stop at some point or another. He had a good will power; he figured he could easily just wait whoever it was out and if it was important, they'd leave a message.

But whoever this asshat was turning out to be, they'd had him figured out because they just kept calling…and calling…and calling and calling and calling and calling and never ever stopped to the point where Arthur frankly wasn't sure they ever _would._ It was a scary thought, and Arthur had just about begun to believe he was in the bloody Twilight Zone or something when he decided to just throw in the towel and answer the damn thing.

He fished the phone out from his back pocket, his eyes trailing over the caller id.

Fan-bloody-tastic.

"You're awfully irritating, aren't you, Allistor?" he quipped into the phone, attempting to balance it on his shoulder while ghosting his fingers back over the keys, slowly beginning to type away once more, albeit not with the same enthusiasm.

He could've sworn he heard the other smirking that grin of his.

"Ye' always 'thus polite t' ye're older brothers? C'mon now, 'haven't talked t' ye' in a long time!" a heavily accented voice whined from the other end, all but making the Brit cringe.

"What the hell is with your voice?" he wondered, giving up entirely on writing now and leaning back in his chair. "You've been living in Scotland for what? A year? Talk regularly, you wanker."

It was true, his older brother Allistor (or "Scottie" as he sometimes went by) had been living in Scotland for a year. _Only a year_. The likelihood of him picking up the accent in that short amount of time…well, needless to say his younger brother, Arthur, was having none of it.

"Gee. Gee. Fine." the man groaned back, his Scottish accent dropped as if it were nothing. "You're such a grouch. I mean honestly, Arty."

"Arthur." Arthur corrected grumpily, this close to hanging up now that he knew who it was. The only thing stopping him is that he knew he would just call again.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever… Arty, Artiemeister, Artikins, _Arthur, _they all be the same anyhow."

Arthur couldn't help but interject. "Are. They all 'are' not 'be'."

His brother let out a loud snort.

"Oh, come off it, Arthur. Hell, I was going to ask if ye' had a girl yet, but I think I already know. There's no way anyone'd want that naggy arse o' yours." He snickered.

"Did you call just to make fun of me?" the blonde snarled back, his grip tightening on the phone.

"Nah, nah. I wouldn't do thut' to me' fav'rite brother!" Scottie chuckled, a sarcastic edge to his voice as he slipped back into his fake accent. "I wanted t' let ye know a little somethin'."

"What?"

There was a long, taunting period of silence on Scottie's part before he finally spoke back up. "Oh, jus' wanted t' tell ye, mum's been missin' ye. Ye know how she is an' all, with the worryin' and the naggin'—hell, I think ye got yer naggin' from her—and then the worryin' all over again, wull'…she wanted me and Erin t' come check on ye since, ye know, _ye never call anyhow_. Thought it'd be nice t' have two o' ye're brothers visitin' ye. Rick'd come too, 'cept he's busy and 'shet. Oh! She wanted t' know too if ye had a lass yet, but I already told her 'no' 'cause I mean…we all know you and—"

"_What?"_

"Wull', I mean ye're not only a naggy arse, but ye're sort of an ugly fuck, too—"

"No, no, shut up. That's not what I—w-wait, I'm not ugly! I'm—e-ergh! That's not important. What I want to know is why in the bloody hell you think I'm going to let any of you stay over?"

"'Cause if not, we'll pro'lly break in and kick your arse." Scottie suggested coolly, and Arthur could just _picture_ that shit-eating grin forming on his lips.

"When and how long?" he demanded finally, rubbing away the oncoming headache.

"There's the kicker!" Scottie practically howled with laughter on the other end. "We're on our way now, brother dearest staying at our little Arty's place for a week."

Before he had a chance to say how utterly _stupid_ that was the phone clicked off.

* * *

After just about throwing that Brit off of him and shuffling back to busy himself with the driveway, Alfred finally thought he was just about done.

The cold had helped some, not an awful lot, but enough. It only served as somewhat a distraction for Alfred, the kiss still lingering around in his head, staying in the forefront of his mind for the last half hour and blocking away all other thoughts. His lips had long ago begun to feel numb, but he could still feel the warm pressure of Arthur's mouth against his,_ the hot arrival of the Brit's playing and teasing tongue slipping inside his m__outh, battling with his own and—_

'_Where the fuck had the no contact rule gone?!'_ he wondered with a blush, shifting around uneasily there on the driveway. It's like it had just up and vanished and the American couldn't help but wonder if this meant the Brit would pounce him sooner or later. N-Not that he was obliged to stop him, but still. For some reason or another, the thought sent shivers down his spine.

He must just be being stupid! …I mean, it's not like he hadn't had sex before, but…

He took a good long look at the driveway around him. It was darn near perfect if you asked him. He shivered once, feeling Goosebumps rise to the surface of his skin. His eyes trailed over to the window, noticing Arthur was no longer typing.

He'd been typing since he'd got inside which was…erm, if Alfred was correct, about thirty minutes ago. It had sort of come off as a bit of a shock how unaffected he seemed, just typing away at that stupid keyboard of his.

Alfred wasn't sure why, but it made him feel a bit angry. If "angry" was really the right word at all, he wasn't sure.

He craned his neck, wondering just where the stuffy Brit ran off to. He wasn't at his stupid computer, that's for sure.

Well, he was done after all, he might as well go inside and—

"ALFRED. G-GET IN HERE." A loud voice interrupted his thoughts, a seemingly out-of-breath Arthur glaring at him.

Alfred blinked up at him, noticing the Brit must've been in panic mode or something. Not only was he not wearing a fucking coat, but he only had one of his little slipper moccasin things on.

Alfred wondered if this was the part where he got pounced on. He'd never seen a horny Englishman, but perhaps this is what it looked like.

If that was the case, he failed to see the appeal. The man looked more crazy and frantic right now than anything else…

And if he was going to have to do it in the snow, he was going to be _hella pissed_ because he already couldn't feel his nose nor could he feel either one of his ears or his fingers.

"Something absolutely horrible is happening...er, scratch that. _Going to happen_. The wankers aren't here yet. _God knows where they are though_….erm….Don't ask. Don't bloody ask…I-…" he paused as if trying to find the best way to summarize something. "J-Just…well…you remember the list of rules I got you, right? The 'call me sweetie', 'no p-physical contact'…thing…? Yeah… I need you to…"the man rambled on, scratching at the back of his neck nervously.

"Dude. You're not making any sense." Alfred chimed in weakly, not wanting to interrupt a crazy man when he's rambling, but honestly having no clue what he was talking about.

Seriously, was this guy high on something? Alfred racked his brain, trying to figure out if people from the UK were known to be druggies or something. That would make a lot of sense right now.

Arthur took a deep breath, calming down. "My brothers are coming here. I have no clue _when_ because being the bastards they are they hung up, but um… You…er…I need you to do me a favor."

As long as that favor wasn't doing it in the snow, Arthur could count him in.

* * *

Short chapter is short. I'm sorry OTL


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Right when I say I'm starting to stick to a schedule, I ruin it xD Oh well, sorry this chapter's a bit late. Combined with me being sick and suffering from severe ****procrastination, my editor went to bed Sunday night before I finished OTL. So yeah, being that today's Christmas Eve, think of this as an early present :3. Sorry it's short _**

**Oh, and thank you to all who reviewed ;3; I want you to know that I go through each one of your revi****ews with a goofy grin plastered on my face :D Seriously, they mean a lot. I really love it that I'm starting to have regular reviewers. :'3 It makes me really happy.**

**So without further adieu, here's the next chapter. Please tell me what you think of it and**** ooh, to spice things up you guys should make predictions xD….But don't worry, I'm not going to force you lol**

**Oh and of course this is dedicated to sasorilover7**

* * *

8

Alfred had started to believe that Arthur was secretly some sort of military strategist or something.

Honestly. The dude had everything planned out, everything drilled into him on just what to do, what to say, what to...erm…touch, what not to touch… all as soon as he'd given him a simple "okay". Fuck this man didn't play around when he asked favors, now did he? Alfred surely didn't think so.

And it'd also got him thinking. This man was a total hypocrite, wasn't he? He'd walked in thinking he was going to be some sex toy, then he'd been flat out told by Arthur that not only did he not want this hot American bod, but he didn't want _anyone,_ and that he was some weird guy that liked absolutely no one (feeding into one of his theories that the Brit might've been an alien and that he just didn't want to do it with a _human_)…and then…oh fuck, and then the Brit had full on tongue assaulted him and left him flustered and blushing and looking like an idiot…and now…

And now he wanted him to assist him in something even _he _thought was stupid. And the fact that Alfred Foster Jones of all people found the idea stupid, well, that was saying something.

But at least he wasn't being pounded into the snow right now. That was always something to be thankful about, right?

"C-Can you run all that by me again?" Alfred asked, staring up at the Englishman in front of him (who had thankfully brought him back into the warm house. Hallelujah to that) and leaning back on the couch. All he heard was a long rambling of rules and something even _he_ wished he hadn't heard. He couldn't really help it that he sorta had a short attention span. Having him listen to all that "do this, not that" mumbo jumbo spewing from his mouth had gotten him completely bored early on and he'd stopped listening right after the first rule he'd uttered. But being that Arthur looked like he wasn't about to take any shit, Alfred decided it'd be best to actually try to _listen._ I know, sounds like a real fucking challenge, right?

Arthur looked like he was in no mood for Alfred's question, but surprisingly didn't slap him one. Not that Alfred had really been expecting that he would, but still. You never know with a Brit.

"My brothers are coming." Arthur repeated finally, the words slipping out as if they were synonymous to "I have cancer" or "I ran over your dog". He leaned his cheek on his palm, his eyes narrowed as if he was foreseeing such a horror already playing out in his mind. "Who knows when they'll arrive? Maybe they'll come bursting through the window this minute." he continued, a bitter edge to his voice.

Alfred really hoped not. He hadn't got all this down yet. And three Englishmen in the same house? That would be like hell. Well, assuming they were all like Artie.

"Yeah, I caught that."

"They're…_they're a bunch of annoying arseholes_, you know that?" he snapped, continuing in his little rant. "Mum favors them though. _I don't know bloody why, but s__he does_. It doesn't make any sense, I tell you—"

Alfred cleared his throat, "But, er…what is it that you want _me_ to do?"

"Hmph. I thought I was just over this." He groaned, but continued nonetheless. "I need you to forget about the whole 'no touching' rule just this once and…well…this is going to sound extremely ridiculous, but..." he trails off, struggling now with how to word what he was going to say next. "Help me get them out of here ASAP. Which, uh, I guess you could say means make them feel as awkward as possible."

"Awkward." the word even sounded awkward coming off Alfred's lips as he tried it out. "Like how?"

"Like, I-I don't know…" Arthur stammered back impatiently, before adding in: "Well, I mean, _y-you must know, right?! _Be sort of mushy and clingy around me and of course, knowing them they're going to be grossed out, especially since you're, uh,_ male_, and then they're going to hightail their arses out."

Alfred considered that for a moment before a light bulb went on. "Wait a minute…" he mumbled, scratching his neck. It'd taken him a while, but he'd sure enough been able to put the puzzle pieces together. "Is everyone in England asexual?"

_That_ had earned him the slap.

* * *

There were rules.

There were _always_ rules, so it didn't come as much of a surprise to him. He'd been taught the basic "rules" over again as well as some new things as well (well, I mean, there were a couple exceptions to the original rules, but nothing major ) and damn, you should've seen that Brit whip out that stack of papers and sit there, rattling off each one individually. It was frightening.

It just about caused Alfred to go into a rule-induced coma.

But, hey, really, it wasn't all _that_ hard. (Of course there were also a couple perks, too! He could use just about as many ridiculous "pet names" as he wanted; which admittedly, he already had a list of them in his head. Truth be told, that had made it just about all worth it.) He'd also had to do a lot worse for others before him and this, well, maybe he didn't want to come to terms with it fully just yet, but it was sort of fun. It was kind of like one big game of pretend.

If you knew Alfred long enough, you'd know that there was really nothing the boy loved more than acting. Depending on how you viewed it, his love for the art could also be why he was so good at his job. He was always game on filling out others' fantasies; easily slipping into whatever role they wanted him to take.

Not really that he got _off_ on it, but it was just something he found to be genuinely fun.

Perhaps one day he might sign up for the theatre? The idea had crossed his mind more than once before but, like now, he shrugged it off.

Still though, the idea of having to try to be as painfully awkward as possible in an attempt to get someone to leave, as much as he enjoyed acting, it just…rubbed Alfred as sorta a stupid idea. He could see so many ways for it to backfire.

But like hell would he open his mouth and protest.

* * *

"When they come, feel free to do things like _this_." Arthur instructed, draping his arms around the other's waist from behind, leaning his head on his shoulder and letting out a soft hum. He stood there for a second before clearing his throat and letting go. "Make sure it's as natural as possible."

Alfred gave a small nod, happy to have him let go and relinquish his hold on him. Truth be told, it sorta made him feel a bit awkward…

Heh. '_I guess that's the point._' he thought with a snort.

"Here; you try."

Silence.

"Like, right now?" the American asked uneasily, not really sure what this weird butterfly-attack thing going on in his stomach was. "Um…"

"Come on." the Brit urged, waiting impatiently for Alfred to do as he was told.

"I, uh…sure." He gave in, doing his best to mirror what Arthur had done before him. So, uh, first thing was to grab him from behind right? He scratched at his neck, but decided that must be it. His arms coiled around the other man, giving him a tight squeeze around his stomach, earning a loud "unf!" in the process.

That was good, right? Alfred racked his brain and decided that that must be a sound of pleasure. Really, being a prostitute, you'd think he'd know right? But he was a bit on the oblivious side.

Step one down, now came the head rest thing. Pfft, child's play. He could totally do that.

He threw his head down hard on his shoulder, perhaps a bit too hard because he had to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out.

And then it came to the last step. Oh, fuck it, this was the easiest.

He let out a loud, maybe just a bit off-tune hum of…hmm… he decided he knew the national anthem the best so he went with that. Arthur hadn't done it long enough for him to know if humming a full song was okay or not, but he figured it was okay. He kept going—and would've been content with humming the whole thing if he wasn't rudely cut off. "Is that the bloody Star Spangled Banner?" Arthur wanted to know.

"Yes." Alfred pouted. "Sorry it wasn't God Save the King."

"_Queen."_ Arthur corrected right away.

"Yeah, yeah same difference."

"_The hell did you say—?" _Arthur started, but fell silent as a loud thudding came from the door in living room.

"Perhaps it's just the mailman?" Alfred suggested with a weak smile, frankly trying to calm down the scary looking British dude in front of him.

"OPEN THE FECK UP YE EEJIT BEFORE I KICK DOWN THE FECKING DOOR AND THEN KICK _YE'RE_ ASS."

"Or maybe they're here." Alfred revised, paling slightly, but nothing in comparison to the now ghost-white Arthur standing next to him.


	9. Chapter 9

**I want to start out by saying I love all of you :'D…as creepy as that may sound. That last chapter had so many wonderful reviews and going through them all I couldn't help but have that same goofy grin I was telling you about plastered all over my face. I even spazzed as I reached 100 reviews. Oh my gosh :'3 I don't deserve all you amazing people. But please stay ;w; You make me happy.**

**Okies, that's enough of that lol. This chapter surprisingly was really easy and fun to write. Actually since I was so excited about all the reviews I got, I tried really hard with this one and it's actually double the length as my usual chapters! Please please please tell me what you think. Your reviews not only keep me motivated but get me all giggly and excited to write C:**

**Dedicated (of course) to my friend/editor sasorilover7 for going through to check for mistakes (and for writing me a usuk fanfic for Christmas *~* Best. Gift. Ever.)**

* * *

No one in their right mind would've let them in. Honest to God, no one would.

Anyone with half a brain cell would've gathered all their belongings and pushed it up against the flimsy wooden barrier called a "door" and started shaking in the corner. Anyone but a certain stuffy Brit that was already making a move for the knob.

Arthur knew better. He knew that yeah, he could easily barricade himself inside and curl up under his bed in fear, but doing so would do him no good. Knowing them they'd bloody well _tunnel_ under the damn house to get to him (and at that time they'd probably be _twice_ as pissed). Either that or break through the window. He wouldn't put it past them. Just opening the bloody thing and welcoming them in seemed like a much easier alternative. If he were to die today he might as well do it gracefully.  
Still you should've seen how much he was shaking. He'd compare it to shaking like a leaf, but that expression was more than just a tad bit cliché and Arthur Kirkland of all people was _not _cliché.

'_Just dead'_, a small voice chimed in from the back of his head.

Honestly, the idea of them standing just outside his door was making the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

Images of noogies and swirlies and kicks to the groin filled his mind with every passing second and he could only expect all of that times ten now that they were all beefed up. Or, at least, he was assuming they were all muscular still. He had to suppress a small snicker at the thought that perhaps they'd all gotten beer bellies from all the drinking they undoubtedly did over in leprechaun land. He'd known from growing up that Scottie and Erin had always fancied beer. If they ever legalized marriage to an alcoholic beverage, those two would be all over it. Hell, he almost wondered if California just recently allowed it and _that's_ why they'd come. The only person in his family—other than the lightweight that was himself—that he knew seldom ever drank was his other brother, Wyatt. Which made the whole marriage thing even more likely, because Wyatt had been supposedly too "busy" to come.

There was an awkward period of silence and Arthur honestly wondered absentmindedly if they'd given up. It was a stupid thought, he knew it, but he'd always been one to hope. As pessimistic as he tried to act in front of others, he'd secretly always leaned more on the "glass is half full" side. Not saying he went around throwing confetti and sparkles around exclaiming how happy he was to be alive, but he always tried to look on the bright side of things.

So maybe, against all odds, they'd been struck by a sudden epiphany that not only told them to get the hell off his property and march their arses back to wherever they'd been before, but also that they should start talking normally and stop pretending to be bloody leprechauns.

No such luck.

"IF YE DON'T FECKING OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW I'M GOIN' T' GET BLOODY FROSTB'TE AND AHM' GOIN'G T' RIP OFF ME FROZEN STUB O' AN ARM AN' BEAT YE HALF TO DEATH WITH IT." Allistor practically screamed from the other side of the door, almost _w__ailing_ against the door with his fists as if he just _knew_ Arthur was standing on the other end.

Lovely. He cringed.

"Oi, Scottie. I think ye be scarin' the wee babie half t' death already. Thut's mean don'tcha' think?" another voice scolded teasingly from the other side of the door, making Arthur just about ready to pound his face in on the wall. Not only had they both gone off to different countries, but they'd both managed to fake the same bloody accent. He almost wondered if they were doing it on purpose just to piss him off. Heh. This day was panning out so nicely.

"No really. Open up, Arthur. I'm freezing my balls off." Allistor griped from the other side, banging hard.

Well at least he'd quit that damn fake accent.

Arthur opened the door.

"A proper warning would've been appreciated before you two idiots arrived." He nagged, honestly hoping he wasn't sounding as nervous as he felt. He shuffled around uneasily, folding his arms against his chest to try to be just as intimidating. Perhaps he didn't have their muscles (assuming they weren't all just flab now), perhaps he would always be a baby in their eyes, but he could at least _try_ to gain some respect from them.

Even if after this they'd probably leave with half of what they already gave him right now.

He threw a look over to Alfred.

He had no clue what he was thinking, but whatever it was he looked awfully in his own head at the moment. As long as he didn't squeeze the life out of him and hum the bloody fucking American national anthem at him, he was sort of looking forward to whatever this git could dish out. The twisting feeling in his gut reminded him though that he was not _just_ looking forward to it, but apprehensive as well. Oh how he prayed this worked out.

If he _had_ been able to see into that American's mind though, he probably would have flipped out.

_Awkward, awkward, awkward._ Alfred repeated this mantra over and over in his mind, almost as if he was trying to get himself in some sort of trance. It was working so far, and he was like 100% sure he'd be able to do just what Artie wanted. Okay, granted the grab-and-hum technique still need a little tweaking before he tried it out again, but it wasn't _that_ bad. Maybe instead he could hum God Save the _King _instead? However the hell sounded….

He didn't get to stay in his head for long. Arthur had just opened the door fully and Alfred's eyes went wide and the trance he was trying to put himself in might as well have been for nothing.

_Well then_.

Hell. He didn't know what was with this family and their ability to produce all these fine ass, sexy, bushy-browed Adonises, but he really wasn't complaining. The two other men standing there, other than their noticeably…er…_pronounced_ brows, honestly didn't look much like the Brit. While he lacked in muscle, they more than just made up for it with their refined abs and guns peeking out of their shirts. While Arthur pretty much had _no_ body hair, they had enough of it between them both to carpet a small apartment. Er, maybe that was an exaggeration, but still. And it really wasn't _that_ gross, it was just pretty manly as far as Alfred was concerned. They both had bright red hair and—oh!—there was another way they resembled Artie; they both had deep, forest-green eyes.

Oh fuck, he wouldn't mind either of them on top of him, thrusting and—

Wait, he could've sworn the one on the right, the taller one, was trying to _say_ something to him…?

He blinked suddenly, looking from Arthur and back to him. "What?" he asked shyly, having heard absolutely none of that.

He could only hope he was asking for a foursome.

"I said," the man repeated himself with an eye roll, "just who the _feck_ are you?"

Uh…oh, crap. This was almost as bad as the time Arthur had asked for his name. His mind was a jumbled mess and he had to carefully plan out what he was going to say so he didn't yell out something stupid like "fuck me!" or whatever else was floating around in his mind right now.

"A-Alfred."

That earned him yet _another_ eye roll and at this point Alfred didn't even know what he was doing wrong anymore. C'mon! He'd asked who he was and he told him!

"No, lad." the man groaned, running a lazy hand through his ginger locks. "I mean who _are_ ye? Why are ye in the same house as me wee baby bro'ther?"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but no! Alfred wasn't going to allow himself to fail at this. He was supposed to carry out what Artie wanted and by all means was he going to! He took a deep breath, getting himself in the act, and then settled with the first idea he came up with.

Friends with benefits.

Alfred snaked a hand around the Brit, pulling him into him—successfully not squeezing him to death in the process—and rested his head against his arm childishly, his face rubbing against his sleeve. "_Oh_," he all but purred, "we're just _friends_ right, baby?" He snickered suggestively at the Brit, throwing him a wink. "Best, best friends." he finished with a kiss to Arthur's cheek.

Hopefully this didn't all get him slapped when they left, but in his defense Arthur had momentarily lifted the "no touching" rule.

He'd been going for "sexy" but from the looks the two brothers were giving Arthur it looked more like they were scolding _him_ for _his_ behavior and from the somewhat sympathetic look they threw back at Alfred it looked as if they thought _he_ was some victim.

He'd never seen the Brit look so red and uncomfortable since he'd met him. In fact, up until this point, he wouldn't have even have thought it was possible. Perhaps he really fucked up. But…But it's not like he wasn't doing what he was told! Arthur had told him to be as awkward and clingy as possible and that's exactly what he'd done!

"Wh-What he means is—!" Arthur sputtered shyly, cutting him off and swallowing hard. "We've been best friends for a while now and now we're um…well we've decided to go out with one another."

"Pfffsht, Artiekins is a queer." One of the two teased to the other, grinning widely. "Whut'll dear old' mum say?"

Alfred couldn't help but pout slightly, not only had his idea been shot down, but the two brothers looked more amused now than anything. In fact, they looked as if they were at the brink of doubling over in laughter.

"Shut it, Erin." Arthur snapped. "You and Scottie can go piss off."

So the one grinning at him now must be Scottie. "So, ye his boy toy, huh?"

B-Boy toy?! He was the one blushing now, though he couldn't really pinpoint _why. _But he guessed in some case it was true, right? I mean, he'd been hired as a prostitute, even if his weird British "owner" didn't use him as one didn't mean he still wasn't one…

He opened his mouth to agree but Arthur beat him to it. "Shut it you pricks."

Arthur looked thoroughly pissed off, having stepped now in front of Alfred, pushing him back a little and glaring up at the two.

"Oh, touchy touchy. So protective of your boyfriend." The redhead smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets and making his way around him and inside with Erin following suit. He shivered slightly as he walked in; seemingly glad to escape the harsh weather.

Alfred didn't blame him. He'd spent forever out there scraping snow and he'd felt like he was going to die. Who would want to carry out a conversation in the snow?

(Well, maybe that weird Canadian who'd worked at the same place he did, but he was, for lack of a better explanation, _Canadian._)

Erin jabbed at the air behind him with his thumb. "The bag's back in th' trunk. Go fetch 'em sweetheart." He instructed to Arthur with a sly grin.

"Like hell I will!" he snorted back angrily, red in the face now.

The taller of the two brothers, Scottie, slipped an arm around Alfred, winking at his _wee little baby brother_ with a shit-eating grin. "Don't worry, Artie, we'll watch yer' _little buddy_ for ye."

To Alfred's disbelief, he did as told, stomping out with an irritated huff. He would've let out a chuckle at how utterly defeated he looked—was that even funny?—but he suddenly felt a bit nervous and wished he'd run over to help Arthur grab the bags.

Scottie was still gripping his shoulder.

"So… Let's talk." the man suggested, accent dropped.

Alfred could feel his stomach tying in knots.

"About?" he asked, suddenly conscious of them both so close.

"We just want to know," Erin started up, placing his arm around him as well and staring at him from the opposite end of his brother.

"…Just what in the hell possessed you to like our baby brother." The other finished for him, their voices practically in sync with one other.

Another outlandish idea surfaced in his mind and he found himself wondering if they were a family of robots.

Seemed likely.

"He's uh…nice…" was the only thing he'd managed to get out before the front door slammed open again and two green duffel bags were thrown into the room.

"I'm not your bloody fucking butler you twats!" Arthur snarled before his eyes landed on them. Something angry—or, well, he'd already _been_ angry, but something _angrier_—flashed in his eyes and he ground his teeth together. "What are you two doing to him, you idiots?"

"We _were_ having a nice talk." Erin told him with a low chuckle, leaning his head on Alfred's shoulder teasingly.

"…But you interrupted us." Scottie finished.

Alfred threw him as innocent of a look as he could manage and Arthur rolled his eyes at that—damn, that was probably the tenth time today someone rolled their eyes at him—and stomped forward, grabbing him out of their clutches, clearly peeved.

"Don't touch him you imbeciles."

Wow, Alfred thought to himself, clearly impressed, Arthur was playing the role of "jealous boyfriend" quite well. He wondered to himself if he'd give him acting pointers. Maybe if he begged, he decided. He'd have to try later.

"How cute." Erin cooed with a taunting smirk, nudging his brother in the rib lightly and pointing at Arthur. "He's awfully possessive of lil' Goldilocks here."

"Thut he is, Erin. Makes him so fun to tease, don'tcha think?" Scottie agreed.

Arthur, ignoring them both now, kicked weakly at one of the bags, hands on his hips. "It's already late." he spoke through clenched teeth. "Let me show you two to your rooms." The words were polite enough, but the way he said them was nothing short of rude. It was more of a "get out of my hair, you're pissing me off and I want to sleep" sort of comment more than anything.

"Per'aps we should sleep with little Alfie, huh?" the taller brother suggested teasingly, but Arthur paid him no heed.

"_Alfred_." he corrected, gripping the boy's sleeve, and making sure they both saw his glare "_sleeps with me_."

* * *

**ooooooh. I hope you all enjoyed jealous Artie as much as I did -w-**

**PS. Does anyone else think of the Hiitachin twins with Erin and Scottie? e_e; I don't know why, but I do.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Wow! I got so many reviews on that last chapter! :D You guys are awesome. Sorry this chapter is pretty short; I had to rush to get it done today because I'm going to be gone most of this week for something family-related ;-;**

**I hope you like it! Your reviews always, always, always make me happy c:**

**Dedicated: to all my readers and my editor, sasorilover7 for going through all my different drafts ^-^**

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1:00 am

Guest Room

Erin couldn't fucking care less if those two went at it. He really couldn't. If they were going to do it, hooray for his wee little brother for getting some, but he could _at least _keep it down.

This was the seventh time. This was the _seventh_ damn time he woke up to their thrashing and moaning and at this point, he was really close to getting up and marching his arse over to their room, pounding on their bloody door, and demanding they keep it down.

Either that, or give him some ear plugs. A man needs his sleep.

But whatever, it was the seventh fucking time he opened his eyes and it was the seventh fucking time he had to just lie there and _listen _awkwardly.

Excuse his French.

He peered over slightly at his brother, who, being the sleeping log he was was conked out beside him still, his whole body shaking with every snore. He envied him…

Misery loves company.

"Oi!" he said in an awkward mix of whispering and shouting, shaking his brother as hard as he could out of sleep. "Scottie!"

Scottie let out a tired, leave-me-alone grunt, but opened his eyes slowly, regarding his brother with a scowl. "Heh? The hell do you want, Erin?" he asked, ready to punch him a good one if it was something stupid.

"Do ye hear thut? Artie's been having sex for the last hour." He answered flatly; honestly surprised he'd been able to block it all out.

Scottie's eye twitched slightly, honing in on the loud sounds coming from across the hall. "The hell are they doing playing hokey pokey with us here?" he groaned.

"Do I look like I know?" Erin combated, pinching the bridge of his nose and sitting up.

"How much you wanna bet Artie's the one on bottom?" Scottie snorted, thoroughly amused at the thought of his brother being topped.

Erin gave him a weak punch, honestly grossed out at the mental image. "Ye got to give him a little more credit than that, Scottie. Did you see that boy, Alfred or something, he was with? He looks like one to take it up the a—"

They were cut off by a loud noise of some sort, followed by a somewhat pleading, somewhat angry "N-Not so hard!"

Erin threw Scottie one last annoyed look before rising to his feet. "You wanna break it up with me?" he snickered.

Scottie's lips stretched into a wide smirk and he got up to join him. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, brother."

* * *

12:40 am

Arthur's Room

"I don't care _what _I said." Arthur snapped, drawing an invisible line down the middle of the bed with his finger. "You stay over there, and I'll stay over here. It's not a hard concept for you to understand, you should be able to wrap your head around it."

The American only frowned, eyes drifting from the imaginary border between them to the wad of blankets on the other side.

"I'm going to freeze to death, dude." He whined, gesturing to his lack of blanket-coverage. "And then your brothers are going to walk in and think you're into like…like _dead_ people or something."

Arthur let out an audible groan, only pulling away more of the covers from the annoying boy. "It's called _necrophilia, _Alfred." He corrected, honestly unsure why he felt the need to flaunt his vocabulary off. He didn't get a chance to dwell on it too much before he was cut off by a shocked look from the American.

"Holy crap! You know the name for it?! So that's why you don't like people?! You're only into…into corpses!" he squeaked, willingly scooting away from him now as if getting any closer would be dangerous.

Arthur was this close to slapping him.

"I am _not!"_ he combated, extremely pissed off at this point. He tugged at the boy's sleeve, trying to pull him over to his side of the bed to prove he wasn't some corpse-kissing psychopath.

"G-Get away!" Alfred whimpered, wriggling around under his grasp like a fish flopping out of water.

Damn it all! Must he be this noisy?! The American was making so many grunts, shaking the bed around trying to break free. Arthur pulled harder, successfully moving the American to his side of the bed.

It was only until a moment later that he realized that the only thing he'd been successful in doing is the opposite of what he wanted from the start.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep a poker face to not show that he had made any sort of mistake in dragging him here.

"See?" he asked quietly, coughing a little. "Not scary, right?"

"D-Dude. You just forcefully dragged me next to you to prove that you're not scary?!" Alfred snorted, still looking like he was staring at a crazy man.

"Sh-Shut up you git! Move back then. See what I bloody care!" he scowled, giving a weak push to the American's chest and then turning around on his side so he was facing away from him.

Alfred stayed quiet for a moment before finally snuggling into Arthur's back, rubbing his face into his shirt. "Nah, it's warm over here." He mumbled into him, a soft sigh spilling out of his lips as he wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed him tight.

Arthur had no idea why, but the action choked him up, his heart thumping loudly against his chest because of it. He swallowed hard, reminding himself that whatever this was, he could always use it as writing material.

Not like this thought didn't prevent him from flushing a bright red anyway, attempting to push him off.

"N-Not so hard, you git!" he yelled out, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke.

He swallowed again, wondering what in all of hell his problem was. He shouldn't be getting this worked up over nothing.

Alfred loosed his grip on him, planting a small teasing kiss to the back of Arthur's neck. "Better, _boyfriend_?" he snickered with a yawn, smirking behind the Brit.

"B-Better…and _s__od off, will you_?" Arthur retorted, unable to let out a small chuckle. The yawn must've been contagious because he found himself letting out one of his own, drifting off alongside the American.

He could just barely hear the American mumble out a soft "good night".

* * *

1:02 am

Hallway

"Yeah, but…" Erin mumbled, already seeing a problem with his brother's plan. "I don't really want to puke…And knowing me, I'm going t' puke all over the place if I see _Artie_ in the buff."

"Like ye haven't seen it already." Scottie snorted, rolling his eyes. "I've seen all of ye naked, and as gross as ye all are, I couldn't care less if I have t' see it again."

"Oh gee thanks, brother. Ye're so kind." Erin snapped, flipping his older brother off. "I'll have ye know no one in this family—not even _Artie_—is grosser'an ye." He replied cheekily.

"Oh ye know ye want it." The older redhead teased, earning himself a good sock to the shoulder from his younger brother. "Now, shh. We're coming up to the door now." He instructed, having planned to sneak up on the two and scare the absolute '_feck_' out of them.

That seemed to be the only justifiable punishment in his mind.

The door creaked open at Scottie's slight push and what was _supposed_ to be the two of them going at it, was really…er…quite tame now.

The two brothers narrowed their eyes, not believing how innocent and mushy-gushy the scene in front of them looked.

Their wee little brother lay on the bed, his cute little boyfriend curled up beside him, arm wrapped around him lovingly.

It was almost _too cute. _In fact, Erin thought _this_ might make him puke instead.

"Never knew Artie was the cuddle-after-sex type." Scottie joked quietly, nudging Erin in the rib. Erin let out a small trill of forced laughter, not really getting Scottie's sense of humor sometimes.

"Well, it looks like they're done…" Erin coughed. "Do you wanna save it for now?"

Scottie gave him an ear-to-ear grin, letting out a low chuckle. "Sure thing, brother," he started, looking back at the two. "_We can always give 'em hell in the morning_."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry for the late chapter. ;3; Not only did my laziness and procrastination play a role in the delay, I also had exams...**

**I swear though, this was the hardest chapter to start. I had like no motivation e_e; I almost quit twice.**

**Anyhoo, this chapter has a semi-introduction of a new character and something from Alfred's childhood ^^**

**Please review ;w; **

**Dedicated: sasorilover7**

* * *

Chapter Eleven

"_Want it back, piggy? Oink for it, piggy! Oink, oink! C'mon!"_

_A childish trill of laughter spilled out from the kid's lips, Alfred's backpack being raised higher in the air with every word. "Oink! C'mon! Oink!"_

_The blonde's lower lip trembled, his pudgy arms shooting up for his bag anxiously. "Give me it__! Please! It has my books in it__!"_

_The redhead boy harassing him smiled wickedly, his lips curling upward and his freckled nose scrunching up with the action. "Y'gotta oink, pig. I told you!" he repeated, loving all this control he had over the fatso._

_The chubby boy's blue eyes began to water, tears welling in the corners of his eyes, threatening to drip down any second. He jumped once again before letting out a small sniffle, a small noise uttering from his lips._

"_Heh? What was that, fatty? I didn't hear you!"_

_The blonde glared up at him defiantly, hot tears rolling down his cheeks, and let out the noise again, louder for him. "Oink!"_

"_That's a good little pig. Here!" the kid snorted happily, sounding more like an animal himself, the bag dropping on the floor with a thud, papers spilling out all around them._

"_There kid. Remember you're nothing but a piggy! You're not going to be an astronaut! Where do you even get off saying something like that in class?" He snickered, kicking some of the papers into the air childishly._

Alfred awoke, arms wrapped around something. Something warm. He nuzzled into it, wiping his seemingly fresh tears against it to try to dry his eyes. A soft content noise worked up from his throat and rubbed his cheek against it.

"Alfred? What are you doing?" something asked him, causing him to blink and look up at just _what_ he was snuggling against.

F-Fuck…the dream had made him just about forget where he was!

"E-Er…sorry." He mumbled nervously to the Brit he'd been somewhat-sleeping with, dropping his arms instantly and shying back over to his side of the bed. "I was still kinda sleepy, dude."

_Please do _not _ask why I was crying_, he begs inwardly, dabbing more at his eyes and burying his face in his pillow.

And he didn't.

"Do you bloody hear that?" Arthur whispered, tilting his head slightly as if straining his ears for a noise coming from just outside the door.

Alfred coughed a bit, sitting upright and shaking his head, though as absorbed as Arthur was in listening, he probably didn't even notice. "No."

"Listen closer." Arthur suggested, suddenly looking as if he was tuning into something, like he was a fucking military radio or something, listening in on enemy game plans. "Do you hear that? That's a bloody blender going! A blender! What the hell are those two idiots doing with _my_ blender!" he paused, as if wondering just _what _they could possibly doing with his blender. Suddenly, his nose twitched. "A-And that, too! Do you smell that?! That's bacon! What are they doing cooking _bacon!_ I don't even _own_ bacon!"He rambled angrily, already slipping out of bed—or rather falling out, really—and shrugging on a pair of slippers. _Angrily _shrugging on, Alfred might put.

"Maybe they're hungry?" Alfred suggested groggily, wiping his eyes once more with his sleeve, kicking his legs up over the bed.

"They can bloody starve for all I care!" Arthur snapped, already stomping down the hall, Alfred quickly deciding to trail behind him.

* * *

They had, as it turned out, been making bacon. Not like that in itself was all that important to Arthur, but the fact that they were screwing around with his cooking equipment and rummaging through his fridge like wild hooligans did in fact bother him _a lot. _They looked like monkeys. More so than usual.

"What the hell are you two doing?!" he snarled, placing a hand on either side of his hip in a lame attempt at showing authority.

Scottie let out a small snort, looking back at him from his position by the blender, plopping one more egg into the machine with a smirk. "Oh, you're up?" he asked innocently.

"Answer me, damn it!"

He didn't look phased, reaching out with a stretch of his arm to snatch a piece of bacon from Erin and toss it into his strange blender concoction. "This here's for you, love." He answered sweetly.

"And what the hell is _that?"_

"This?" he asked, finger hovering over the "start" button, throwing his brother a grin. "Me and Erin' be figurin' you could use a little protein. A good fuck always wears you out a bit, huh? Doin' it all night musta' killed ye, eh?" Scottie continued with a smirk, eyes trailing over to Alfred behind him. "Oi," he called out softly, feigning concern, "ye butt hurt too bad?"

Erin could've sworn he'd never in his life seen his brother blush that bad. He looked as if someone had dumped a vat of dark red paint on him. The sight of it made him snicker uncontrollably from the sidelines.

"I-I-I…" Arthur began, all the confidence he'd managed to muster up walking into the room gone by now. He swallowed hard twice, struggling to get anything out of his mouth without stuttering horribly.

Scottie only continued to smirk. "Yes?"

"W-What are you even going on about you twat?!" he managed finally, the color not once leaving his cheeks.

"Mm? Don't play dumb, Artie." Erin joined in finally, lips curling into a Cheshire cat smile. "We all heard ye fucking yer little sweetheart over there all night. No need to hide it, lad."

"F-Fucking—?!" he demanded, unable to even process the very idea.

The two older brothers exchanged a small knowing look between each other before grinning widely back at him. "Tsk tsk. Whatever then. Ye're still drinking this up."

The older of the two brothers jabbed a finger back over at the blender, a strange, yellowish orange mixture staring back at them all, bits of yolk and bacon floating around in it still.

There was no way in hell he was ever going to drink that. His brothers had to be fucking kidding themselves if they thought for even a second that Arthur was going to willingly just chug that all down.

Well that was something. _Willingly._

Arthur could only pray they didn't strap him down to some chair and force him to drink it. Heh, that'd be a bit like old times now, wouldn't it? They'd strapped him down plenty of times before. Like when they were giving him noogies, swirlies, forcing him to eat dirt…

He twitched just slightly, hoping with all that he had that "forcing him to drink a bacon-egg smoothie" wasn't something he'd have to add onto his list.

A cough came from behind him, causing him to remember that there even was a person behind him. He looked over back at Alfred, who was eyeing the drink hungrily, eyes wide. "If Artie doesn't want it, can I have some?" he asked, just about drooling at the sight of it.

Once again, the two brothers exchanged looks, though this time as if they hadn't really been expecting that. It was Erin who finally spoke up. "Er…sure. I suppose ye need it too after last night." He chuckled awkwardly to himself, soon narrowing his eyes at just how big of a portion Alfred was now getting himself, practically filling up an entire cup with the crap.

"Ye sure ye want all o' thut?" Scottie sputtered out.

Alfred nodded happily, closing his eyes and chugging some down.

"Alfred, _dear_," Arthur forced out, "I'm not sure you really want to drink all of that."

Alfred only gave him a small thumbs-up as if to tell him it was all good.

_He couldn't understand Americans or their taste buds for the life of him_.

And Arthur probably would've kept gawking at him too—I mean, really? He'd be surprised if Alfred wasn't throwing it all back up later—if not for the home phone beginning to ring.

And ring. And ring. And ring.

"Ye going to get that? Or should I?" Scottie snorted, already making a move for it.

Like hell was Arthur going to let Scottie even answer a _telemarketer _for fear of what could possibly come out of his stupid mouth.

He opted to reach for it himself. "Hello?" he asked into it, thankful that after a second those arses already looked bored with him and began focusing their attention on that American instead. He hadn't even looked at the caller id, but whoever it was, it must be something important for them to call at the ungodly hour of seven o' clock.

A short burst of laughter came from the other end. Though if you asked Arthur, it sounded more like a cackle than anything else…or perhaps like the man on the other end was coughing up a cat. "Kesesese! Hiya there, Artie. Guess who?"

Arthur all but facepalmed right then and there.

What on _earth_ could his editor possibly want from him right now?

* * *

**Enter Arthur's editor, Gilbert! o3o**


	12. Chapter 12

**I really enjoyed writing this chapter! Usually with my other chapters, I'd just sit there and not know how to begin. With this chapter though it just seemed to fly by! I really hope you guys review and tell me what you think about the story and whether or not you like editor Prussia!**

**;u; I hope you like it!**

**Dedicated to Shadowdemon321 for editing the chapter this time ^^**

* * *

_A short burst of laughter came from the other end. Though if you asked Arthur, it sounded more like a cackle than anything else…or perhaps like the man on the other end was coughing up a cat. _

_"Kesesese! Hiya there, Artie. Guess who?"_

_Arthur all but facepalmed right then and there._

_What on __earth __could his editor possibly want from him right now?_

* * *

**12**

Arthur could not think of any time, any bloody dimension in which calling him right now (right now at seven bloody 'o clock mind you!) would be a good idea.

It was pointless, idiotic even… But this was Gilbert. His ideas, for the most part at least, were always stupid. Well, other than ideas revolving around his work. He was a bit of an idiot genius when it came to things like that. He knew his job, he knew it rather well, but common sense was not his forte by any means. You surely didn't need Arthur Kirkland to tell you that much.

"C'mon! Guess!" the voice on the other end urged, causing the Brit to roll his eyes in response. Mentally, this man might as well have been five and a half. What he was doing being an editor—_a successful one at that—_Arthur had no clue.

"Britney Spears?" he replied flatly, positioning the phone on his shoulder and staring down at his nails dully. It took him a second.

A snort. Arthur should've known better than to figure he would've caught on to his sarcasm. He wouldn't get his sarcasm even if it bit him smack dab in his arse.

It was an amusing thought.

"Wow! You suck!" the man laughed loudly into the phone, once again letting out some of his famous "Prussian" laughter.

Oh, perhaps he had failed to mention that that "cat-coughing" laugh of his was something he liked to refer to as "Prussian laughter". This Brit had heard countless times that excuse. Honest to God, this man's ignorance knew no bounds. As soon as his editor had traced his family history back to some Prussian nobility (whether or not that was even true, Arthur's guess was as good as anyone's), he'd taken the title and ran with it. _"Oh, it's because I'm Prussian~", "Do you kno__w that old country of Prussia~?__My great, great, great, great, great, great, great-something grandfather was a __duke__ there__!"_

Arthur doubted his annoying laugh had anything to do with his ancestors being dukes, but who was he to rain on his editor's parade?

He guessed no one.

"Is there something wrong, Gilbert?" he spoke into the phone, his eyes trailing back at that disgusting display behind him. Hell, those brothers of his sure were easily distracted. Then again, watching that American chug down something that gross was pretty distracting, he supposed.

One more thing. Gilbert was a bloody tough critic. Despite his carefree façade, he was pretty anal about things like spelling and commas. The only person the Brit could ever see him being related to is a grammar Nazi. (Like hell he'd ever voice that for fear of seeing him get upset.) Arthur knew better than to write up a run-on or even fathom writing a comma splice, but sometimes small things like that evaded him.

And when they did, he knew he'd be getting a two AM phone call with a frantic, Prussian-duke-descendent on the other end informing him that on page thirty five, line two, there had been a comma splice.

Oh joy.

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur~!" he called on the other end, and there was a small noise as if he'd kicked his feet up on his desk. "You should come over to my office. I'd like to discuss some of, er, _your work_. Or, uh, in need-of-work work."

_Heh?_

"Don't tell me it's a comma splice."

He could feel the man smirking on the other end.

"Nope. It's something else. Just come around ASAP and we'll make this story kickass." Then he hung up.

Arthur could not stand when people just hung up without a word of goodbye. It only made sense that it would be something Gilbert did often.

He hung the phone up as well, throwing a look over at the three behind him. Well, shit. There were certain things that were almost just impossible to do. One would be coming up with something on the spot, and two would be leaving Alfred with these idiots. Not that he should really care regardless, but still…

"So, you're awfully chatty with the telemarketer, eh?" Erin laughed from where he stood, and Arthur merely shooed him off. He's just had his fix of annoying for the day, thank you very much.

"I got a call from work." He told them, racking his brain for something that seemed like a halfway decent excuse. "I'll have to go in for roughly an hour or so."

"You mean that newspaper writing gig of yours?" Scottie asked, causing the younger brother to cringe just a little. If anyone in the family had been the most suspicious about his sudden move to America, it had been him. To tell the truth, he thought he had somewhat of a better chance here. Not just in the writing industry, but he felt as if he could keep his secret a lot more efficiently without people hovering over him constantly.

"Yeah, that." He answered, not about to go into any specifics. "And while I'm gone I hope you'll not only take good care of Alfred, but you won't burn my house down in the process. I'm personally holding you both responsible for anyth—"

"Hey, hey! I'm thinkun' thut he's goin' t' his secret lover!" Erin smirked, punching playfully at Scottie and then ruffling Alfred's hair. "Oi Alfie, ye think he be cheatin' on ye or somethin'?" he asked, earning a glare from his younger brother.

"Don't be a bastard. It's work." Arthur assured, though it felt really like he was assuring the American more than anyone_. _Heh, this day had just been screwing with his mind. He couldn't even think straight anymore.

It's Erin who broke the small silence preceding that. "We'll keep good care of him. Right brudder?" He exchanged a smirk with Scottie to his left.

"Aye, aye. We'll take _perfect _care of him."

Arthur couldn't trust either one any less than he already did.

* * *

8:30 am

Arthur Kirkland

Gilbert's Office

It looked precisely as he remembered.

And he remembered unorganized. _Unorganized. Cluttery. Something that by no means fit with Gilbert's OCD personality_.

He remembered the piles upon piles of manuscripts littering his desk and the opened and crushed soda cans (the man ran on diet Mountain Dew) and the huge map of "Prussia" (the country the man raved so much about but had honestly never gone to nor knew anything about). He remembered clearly the distinct smell of wurst mixed with stale beer.

And he was one hundred percent right.

The room was rather small and with all this added junk, the Brit found it sort of hard to navigate himself inside. He jumped over papers and sidestepped a huge cardboard box filled to the brim with God knows what. He partook in this stupid rigmarole of turns and jumps to finally get to the chair. Only to see something that "stupid" wouldn't even describe.

"I've been expecting you, Arthur." The annoying voice sounded as if he was fighting back laughter as the man swirled back in his chair to face his client, petting Arthur's manuscript (if you'd even call the first typed up two chapters that…) in his lap in place of a cat.

If this whole thing was supposed to be funny, Arthur failed to see the humor in it.

"If you weren't so bloody good, I'd ask how you're still in business."

His editor laughed.

And for a slight moment, the corners on the Englishman's lips pulled up and he let a small smile grace his lips.

"Aww, that's not nice." Gilbert chided, setting the papers on his lap up on the desk for the two to look over. "You're going to make me cry one of these days, you know?"

"I'm looking forward to it, Beilschmidt." He replied flatly, leaning back a bit in his chair, readying himself for criticism. "Now tell me, what is the reason you called me here in the first place?"

He got a smirk. "This was pretty good you know. I like this whole 'Alfie' character. It's a refreshing change from the normal."

"And…?"

There was always an "and". There's no way Gilbert Beilschmidt of all people would call him in here just to praise him.

"Ha ha! You know me too well, don't you? Kesesese!" he said, thumbing through some of the pages as he spoke. "Yep, there's some stuff I think you should add. You know, to make it not as boring."

"Quit saying that."

He received a blank stare. "What?"

"The whole 'you know' rubbish. Let's just presume that I don't know anything you're talking about for clarification's sake."

"Well then," his editor spoke, grinning now despite the small scolding. "Let me just give it to you straight. (_Heh heh! As straight as a homosexual story can be, right Artie?)_ This story's too…er…_innocent._ I mean, it's too much like the rest of your work. I mean, that sells I guess. But you know what people nowadays want, right?"

He resisted the need to tell him that he just did it again. "No. What? Do enlighten me."

"SEX."

* * *

7:15 am

Alfred Jones

Arthur Kirkland's Residence

It's not like he cared that much. Really, so what if Artie was out fucking someone? Not like he really was betting on that though, the dude was asexual or whatever. A total weirdo who had like no interest in anyone. Yup. Uh huh.

Fuck it all, why was he rambling to himself?

"Looks like it's just us, huh?" one of the older brothers laughed, making Alfred raise a brow.

He sounded so eager.

"I say we go out for drinks," was the first reply he got from the other brother and the two nodded to each other like Alfred's opinion wasn't even needed.

"It's like seven." Alfred piped up, but they ignored him.

Looks like they wouldn't listen to a wallflower. He'd have to amp up his presence if he wanted to be paid any attention to.

He leaned against the side of the counter, his pajama shirt slipping down his shoulder slightly, focusing inwardly on making his big baby blues as big as he could. Perhaps sexy wasn't the answer now, but maybe "cute" was?

If anything he figured he was Arthur's right now and he'd never once got the okay to leave the house like this from him.

Also, he didn't trust himself drunk.

"I think we should wait for him…" Alfred suggested, tugging a bit at one of their sleeves childishly, shuffling about.

Their looks were nothing short of carnivorous. "You're right. We can always drink _here."_ Scottie replied, pinching the boy's cheek and leaning in dangerously close.

"Oi oi, Artie wouldn't like ye touching his little boy toy." Erin replied with a scolding wiggle of his finger.

"Artie can kiss my ass," he said, standing upright and looking around in the fridge. "'Sides I'm not going t' do nothing t' little Alfiekins. Don't be silly." He teased. "We're just going to talk to him, right? And nothing goes better with talking than a little something to drink~"

Alfred could only hope Arthur would get home soon.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **

**Edited by: sasorilover7 and Shadowdemon321**

**Dedicated to: DeiDeiArtistic **

**:3 I tried to slip in some more things on Arthur's asexuality in this chapter. If any of you are wondering he's a homoromantic demisexual ^-^**

**Also, I'm so so excited! I just checked on my story and I'm so close to 200 reviews! ;U; I flipped out. I love you guys!**

**Edit: gyaaa. I changed "room" to "office" because I totally forgot that Alfred had slept there as well with Arthur. oops!**

* * *

"_But you know what people nowadays want, right?"_

_ He resisted the need to tell him that he just did it again. "No. What? Do enlighten me."_

_ "SEX."_

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

Arthur leaned back in his chair, mentally chastising himself for not having seen that coming. He was a bit surprised the bastard hadn't greeted him like that upfront on the phone. (_"What do you want to talk to me about—?" "SEX.") _In Gilbert's mind, Arthur could clearly imagine, there were four different things he was capable of thinking of: comma splices, Prussia, diet mountain dew, and sex. Perhaps all four at once! But that might be pushing it.

"And I'm supposed to give it to them?" he snorted, instantly regretting the words he uttered. "Give it to them". Heh. Heh. Sex. Heh heh. Sex _joke._ He surely didn't find it funny (he guessed anyone who'd graduated the seventh grade didn't), but he could see his editor giggling. Giggling like a buffoon, really. Once again, he wondered why this man was in business.

But he could answer that one on his own. That man had saved his arse countless times from being one of those washed-up, boring authors that only grace the likes of garage sales and thrift stores.

He guessed he shouldn't really be complaining all too much about his juvenile sense of humor. Still…

"Well duh," was his answer, the prematurely-white-haired man grinning widely at him from across the desk, leaning forward with his elbows propped up against it. "Just throw in something hot and steamy in the middle and leave it at that."

_Hot and steamy. _Unbeknownst to Gilbert, the first thing that entered the Brit's brain was not rough, sweaty "love-making" as he probably would've hoped, but a bag of fresh popcorn.

"How exactly might I go about writing that?" he questioned after a second, playing with the little black ring on his middle finger at just the mere mention of "sex". He recalled vividly the day he'd ordered it, practically giggling like a girl the day it showed up in a small FedEx box on his porch. It not only just looked nice (he'd custom ordered it and hell if it didn't look as much as what it was worth) but it also represented who he was. He was different, but so be it. Why shouldn't he embrace it? Why shouldn't he take pride in that? This ring not only represented his asexuality, but his vow to only love someone he was emotionally connected to. Hell, if that guy even existed, he couldn't be too certain… "I told you what this ring represented, didn't I? 'Sex' really isn't my thing. I'm h—"

"Yeah, yeah, homo-whatever-asexual. You gave me some label, but it was long and I forgot it. I don't care if you're a whiny little virgin who doesn't like sex, make it your thing." He said indifferently, kicking back in his chair and rolling backwards to a bookshelf on the side of the room. "You can always just read up on it if you're too wimp to get yourself laid, kesese."

"I'm not a 'wimp', I just don't want to d—"

"Yeah, yeah, save it, brows. Oh, and don't ask why I have gay porn novels, 'kay? I'm straight I swear." He rambled in reply, running over the back of the book in his hand and picking out another from the shelf beside him. Arthur only rolled his eyes.

"Trust me I won't ask." He answered watching as the man selected three books out from his collection, plopping them down before Arthur for him to look through.

"Here," he spoke with a smirk, "my own private collection of erotica. Aren't you lucky?"

"I just may be the luckiest man in the world." Arthur agreed dryly, throwing his editor an unamused expression before reading the back of the first one.

Luckiest man indeed.

_Fresh out of college and out on his own, Matthew Williams finds himself taken under the wing of a highly influential and perverted heir to one of the most well-known French businessmen out there…who, well, has quite a few things in store for him in this steamy hot, passionate—_

"Who wrote this rubbish?"

The Prussian looked a bit offended and he stuck his nose up in the air to show it. "You don't have an appreciation for awesome literature, do you, Kirkland?"

"I'm in awe of how spectacularly cliché and pointless this story seems. I can't say I appreciate it very much though."

"Hmph, you're going to read up anyway, stupid. Unless your virgin ass wants to go screw someone, you might as well just take notes on what you're given." Once again the books were pushed his way and Arthur had to fight the urge to roll his eyes a second time.

"F-fine." He caved in after a solid moment, telling himself he'd at least give the books a shot. If anything, he might get a couple good laughs out of it.

"That's a _gut_ Englishman." Gilbert praised, making sure to slip in some German in there in case the Brit hadn't been properly annoyed to begin with. _"I'm looking forward to reading your next chapter__._"

* * *

"A-An thun'…an thun ye know whut I did?!" the Scottish brother slurred, his arm draped over his brother's shoulders, swaying this way and that with the mug of booze in his hand. "I threw 'im o'er the bloo'dy fecking lake thut's whut I did and I said '_swim bitch'_! I'ad been thinkun ol' Nessie woulda swallow'd 'im whole, but alas here he still is! Heh heh!" The mug collided with the coffee table in a loud '_clank_', a bit of alcohol splashing out into the air around him.

Alfred watched the sight in front of him with curious eyes, the mug in his own hand feeling empty and untouched. He'd only taken a sip (and that sip had been urged on by the two brothers); they'd had four rounds each.

The first round had been nothing but him getting hit on awkwardly, if you could even call it that (_"Here, sit next to me, Alfred. Ye look cold. Are ye cold? Want me to warm you up?" "Oh, stop it Scottie! Remember he's not yours! Ye said ye wouldn't be touchin' him now, remember?" "Aye, aye. Still though. He be looking a bit cold…"). _It didn't last all that long, the two of them soon beginning to ramble off stories about their childhood…which, Alfred found as he continued to listen, mainly consisted of beating up their younger brother.

There was another thing though (not that Alfred should really care all too much being his position with this weird trio, but still…) and that thing shocked him just a little.

"He be tellin' ye about dad yet?" Erin had questioned, staring down at the dark brown liquid in his glass. "Arthur, thut is."

Alfred shook his head, feigning meek innocence. "No."

"I see. Th' bastard was a hella o' a guy, thut's for sure. A real dick."

And then he left it at that as if that's all that needed to be said.

And to be honest, it really bugged Alfred.

A lot.

"Haw haw! I remember thut! I'm su'prised he could swim 's'well as he did!" Erin agreed drunkenly, taking a swig of his own drink and nudging his brother in the ribs.

"Whoda' known he coulda' been' able ta' doggy-padd'el thut well?" the other remarked with a smirk.

The image of a desperately doggy-paddling Arthur did prove to be rather amusing, as cruel as the whole thing sounded.

Alfred made a small noise in response, shuffling uneasily and setting the drink down on his lap.

"Ye still haven't drunk a drop!" one of them noticed, sounding shocked. Alfred couldn't tell which one of them it was, his eyes glued to the ground. He looked up with a gulp.

"Erm…I'm not thirsty." He tried, sounding rather nervous with the situation.

"Nonsense!" they replied in sync, their constant unison creeping the blonde out a little more than it should've.

He took a tentative sip to make them happy, eyeing them both all the while as he drank. "There." He mumbled, swallowing hard and setting the cup down on his lap once more.

Once again in harmony with one another, they graced him a smile. Scottie opened his mouth to make some remark—_probably tell him to drink more—_before his eyes began drooping closed, his head leaning over to rest on the other sleepy brother's shoulder. The two struggled with the oncoming fatigue, but found them both succumbing to it after a moment.

In other words, they passed out like the drunken asses they were.

"Thank God." Alfred mumbled, a sigh of relief spilling out of his lips, setting the drink down on the table beside him.

He stood up; sidestepping the two splayed out on the ground in front of him, walking over to…he stopped.

_Where was he walking to?_

He wasn't sure. He could guess he was walking over to his room, but what would he do once he got there? Stare at the wall for however many hours until Arthur came?

Which brought him to another thought.

_When _was_ that man coming back?!_ Alfred guessed that it'd been about two hours already. Hell if he knew; he didn't have a watch on him and he sucked at reading clocks. All he knew was that it'd been long enough for him to hear every little tidbit on the daily ass-kicking Arthur received as a child.

Two hours and fifteen minutes then? He'd go with that.

Looking around himself, the American found himself smirking at the empty hall. His eyes honed in on Arthur's office with a mischievous smirk.

A peek couldn't hurt.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: So many wonderful reviews ;U; ~ I'm really glad you like the story so far and once again, you guys made me fangirl with your comments *u* You're so nice. I hope you like this chapter as well! Make sure to tell me what you think!**

**Oh, and on a side note, one of you had made a comment about the chapters being sort of short (and I do apologize for that!), so I thought I'd address that. The reason the chapters are so short if because I try to update on somewhat of a weekly basis. I'm already such a huge procrastinator; it'd probably take longer for each chapter if I were to double them c:**

**Edited by**: **sasorilover7 and Shadowdemon321**

* * *

_Looking around himself, the American found himself smirking at the empty hall. His eyes honed in on Arthur's room with a mischievous smirk._

_A peek couldn't hurt._

* * *

**Chapter 14**

In hindsight, maybe he'd been expecting too much. Alfred wasn't really sure _what_ was going to happen when he creaked open that door, but he certainly wasn't expecting to be hit with a tidal wave of "boring". Tough on him for expecting…wait…really, what _was_ he expecting? Dead bodies?

To be honest, he might've preferred that, as morbid as that sounds.

It sure as hell would've kicked the ass of this sad display in front of him. His eyes trailed around the room, locking instantly on the lifeless, drab grey color on the walls and the small wooden desk at the corner of the room. Albeit there were a few spots of interest, that odd purple triangle sticker plastered to his desk being one of them.

He took an unsure step forward, looking behind him quickly to make sure he wasn't being watched. Not like that was likely, with those brothers conked out in the living room and all…

Still.

The floor creaked with the applied pressure, causing him to just about have a heart attack and whip his head around this way and that once more.

He was attracted immediately to the laptop.

Images of that Brit bastard typing away on the thing while he froze in the snow entered his mind and a smug smirk took possession over his lips.

Heh.

He walked over to it, a small sense of urgency bubbling in the pit of his stomach as he sat down, opening the thing up slowly and pressing a pudgy finger to the power button.

It was quiet for a moment, as if processing his request, but soon enough a small blue light flashed and the machine hummed to life, the once black screen suddenly filled with bright color. The small sound it emitted sounded like bombs dropping in his ears, or like he'd stepped on a landmine and by some miracle survived, only to trip and fall on another one.

He had to keep reminding himself the only two other people in the house were both passed out and intoxicated.

Not like that was a very pleasant thought in itself, but it was nice for this scenario.

He gulped twice in anticipation, a sense of dread filling him as soon as he noticed a small purple triangle profile picture appear as well as a little password box.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. He looked around himself, perhaps as if hoping the password was lingering somewhere in the air.

It wasn't.

"Tch…what could it be?" he groaned, not wanting to get this far only to lose.

Not like that hadn't stopped him before, he thought glumly. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, though, not wanting to dwell too much on the past. _Like hell I was ever going to be able to act anyway, that's stupid…_

Focus! He looked around himself once more, opening up drawers and the like, finding spare pens, papers, and old plays. That must be it! He tried typing in "Shakespeare" first. Fuck. No such luck. He scowled, of course not. He should've known better.

He made a small "tut" noise, glaring daggers down at that triangle, attempting to decode password possibilities out in his head.

It's not until he was ready to pound his head into one of the grey, drab walls that he noticed there were _words_ underneath that sticker. Four small black letters.

Aven.

It was worth a shot; he'd just about type anything in at this point.

A…V...E...N…

_Pleasepleasepleaseplease!_ Whatever the hell "Aven" meant, please let it work! He crossed his fingers and—

It worked. It fucking worked.

He was a genius.

He coughed a little more, scratching his neck. _He already knew that after all…_

The desktop wallpaper that showed up after a moment was…pretty boring. Like the rest of the room. Just the standard rolling green hill with the puffy clouds and overly blue sky. Not like he'd been expecting all too much.

And then…he just sat there. Now that he'd gone through all that trouble breaking in (if you'd even call it that), what on Earth was he going to do? He looked down at the small toolbar, eyeing each one of the programs pinned to it. The internet? No… He gnawed on his lower lip, skipping the Microsoft Powerpoint one and some other boring things before going straight for the folder.

It's like he expected to find porn.

And of course that wasn't there.

Just a bunch of Microsoft Office documents and crap. He almost exited out of it, but not before his eyes honed in on one in particular.

_**Alfred Story**_

Well, if that wasn't much of an incentive to open it, he didn't know what was. _Alfred story, Alfred story…_Hell! That was almost just flat out _creepier_ than anything else.

It loaded rather fast.

* * *

Traffic was hell. Traffic was _always_ hell here. Some arse just almost bloody rear-ended him a second ago. Tch…Arthur absolutely loathed reckless driving. He absolutely loathed _American _driving. The roads were all backwards, too…

He gripped tightly onto the steering wheel, practically just driving with his hand on the bloody horn. He made sure to flip the guy next to him off on the way out of the parking lot. It's like they were all a bunch of idiot teenagers who just got there bleeding license a day ago and had deciding to go joy-riding all over.

Perhaps he just hated Americans? Nah. _Perhaps he just hated people in general._ There. Bingo. Give that winner a stuffed animal.

He veered off, getting onto the highway and drumming his fingers against the wheel. He'd tried turning music on before, but that usually just proved too irritating for him. All music today was utter rubbish.

Instead, he spoke aloud to himself—one thing he often found solace in nearly every time he did it. Not like he'd admit he talked to himself to anyone. Pfft, that would be something. Better yet, admit that it was _relaxing _to him.

"That idiot has no idea what he's talking about. Not everyone wants to read about people shagging like rabbits."

Or did they? Arthur Kirkland was not exactly the entire population after all.

That ring on his finger reminded him of that.

"Heh, whatever. I'll fucking write down the best sex scene that git has seen in his entire life! Tsk!" he told himself, though he didn't entirely believe it.

In fact he didn't believe it at all.

His mind drifted slowly to Alfred the more he thought about "sex", which perplexed him in some aspects. Thoughts of "Alfred" and thoughts of "sex" soon collided together, becoming thoughts of "having sex with Alfred".

For lack of a better word, the idea felt…wrong. It felt like something he shouldn't even be thinking… something that just gave him a weird feeling in his gut.

He tried imagining bending the American over, tugging down those jeans of his, running a finger down his smooth skin and…

Nope. Nope. He didn't want that thought to go any further. The idea of kissing seemed a lot more comfortable than sex.

Sex seemed…it just seemed…

He didn't even want to waste a second thinking about it. It felt so weird and the fact that he'd even let it creep into his thoughts made him incredibly guilty. What he felt guilty over? He wasn't sure. Fantasizing wasn't really a problem. Fantasizing about someone and giving them…_a face_, a face of someone you knew… That's where the problem was.

"I can do this." He whispered to himself encouragingly. "I'm the best writer I know. I can do this. Yep."

But that wasn't entirely true either. He had sort of a hate relationship with his writing. It was never good enough. The idea of someone else reading it…and liking it…it was odd. He knew he was a good writer, but at the same time everything that he wrote he felt like was complete trash. Damn everything for being so contradictory.

And speaking of "trash", he wondered just how his two idiot brothers of his were fairing. He wondered if they'd already done something—_or_ _said something—_stupid. He'd put good money down that they did. They probably told that American just about every single time they'd given him a noogie. In fact, they'd probably one-upped that with an elaborated in full detail on every swirly they delivered to him, as well.

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

And knowing them they were probably drunk off their arses, too. Arthur Kirkland couldn't think of any time he'd seen them when they _hadn't_ been able to sniff out booze. It's like they were some police hounds or something. Except he was fairly sure that those dogs sniffed out drugs, not alcohol…

Whatever. Same bloody difference.

He came down finally onto the street to his house, letting out a tired yawn. Time to find out, he supposed.

He braced himself for the worst.


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry sorry sorry for the late update! D: I've been pretty busy and haven't had the time to get to writing this!**

**One little quick note about the last chapter, "AVEN" isn't a girl's name xD It stands for "The Asexuality Visibility and Education Network". It's a very informative website that helps both asexuals and their families. It's sort of like the asexual community page ^u^**

**Oh! And I'd like to dedicate this chapter to those that reviewed the last chapter:**

**HongKongxFrance, Lalpulta Cahill, randompersonyay, Jocelyn, TsunSicleDreams, starrenPI, Pastaperson, SenNoYoruWoKoete, How Convenient, xD NaruSasuNaru, Lunar Iris, AkaiShinda, KitsuneMagic48, BritishTraveller, The-Derp-of-Derps, MagicInTheDark, Annzy Bananzy, Singing Artist, CherryBlossomKisses, Guest, and Sxvgwii.**

* * *

_**Alfred Story**_

_ Well, if that wasn't much of an incentive to open it, he didn't know what was. _Alfred story, Alfred story_…Hell! That was almost just flat out creepier than anything else._

_ It loaded rather fast._

* * *

_The man stood nervously at the bus __stop—his bright, blue cerulean eyes batting curiously at his surroundings and his soft pink lips puffed out in almost a childlike pout. He was lost, he knew he was, and he fumbled around with the bag in his hand sheepishly. Today would be his first day at __college and he would be late._

Cerulean. The word practically broke free of the paragraph and slapped Alfred smack dab across the face. He paled at the memory, worrying on his lower lip now as his brain made the connection. And it offered him the obvious question:

_Is this a story about him?_

But he didn't believe it.

He continued to read.

_Which ultimately would be awful, and he wrinkled his nose as the sudden pattering of rain around hi__m. It only added to just how dreadful this day was proving to be already. No wonder he all-but-latched onto the first man he saw walk past. "E-Excuse me, dude!" he called out, not even registering the other blonde's noticeable cringe. "Yes?" the stranger asked, his voice clipped and accent foreign. British._

Despite the overwhelming creepiness of it all, Alfred couldn't help but find his lips upturning in an amused smile. _Dude._ He chuckled weakly at that, that one word clearing away any suspicions he might've had before. Funny how it took that four letter word to get him to believe.

_So_, he attempted to explain to himself rationally, running a stroke of his tongue along his suddenly-dry lips,_ Arthur was writing about him._ Or, well, about a different him. A fictional one. And, er, Arthur was writing about his own self, too. Which was pretty conceited if you ask him to make yourself a main character, but whatever. Not like he really knew that anyway, this "unnamed Brit" could just be a side character. Though he doubted that.

He re-skimmed the paragraph, once again pausing at the word "cerulean". It was silly, really, but that adjective threw him for a loop. It surely wasn't something he'd choose to describe himself with.

Or, well, an adjective he'd have described himself with _before._

He scowled, subconsciously reaching up and tracing small patterns on the area on his face where his glasses used to rest.

Not like he wore them now. Nope. He'd lost them as fast as he could. But that didn't mean he didn't remember how they'd felt resting on his oily, teen face.

Those stupid, fucking high school years.

Tch, he absolutely hated how the little things sent him back. The last thing he wanted right now was to think about back then.

Up until his senior year, things had gone awfully. Between his sister and his mother and those fucking kids on the bus…

He remembered it all clearly. More so than he'd even like.

* * *

_"Another one and another one and another fucking one on my ear." __The teen__ muttered to himself under his breath, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the bus mirror__. Ironically enough, p__uberty ha__d hit him like a _bus_. Or rather__ his acne had. He still had yet to get that low manly voice he__ so desperately__ wanted._

_ The blonde groaned quietly at the rest of his face, his oily hair slicked down (except for that one pesky strand that insisted on defying gravity and sticking straight upright into the air) and his thick-rimmed, blocky glasses resting on his nose, practically sliding off every second. He looked like a mess._

No, _Alfred corrected himself; _he made a mess look good._ He was far worse._

_ "Hey, four eyes!"_

_ Oh fuck. Alfred slumped back in his seat, perhaps hoping for his wallflower powers to kick in. (He'd recently learned he'd had such powers the first day during lunch. All the rest of the student population must've saw just an empty table where he sat. Hence the reason no one came to sit next to him, right? Either that or they assumed he had the plague. Probably a mixture of both.)_

_ Wrong move._

_ "You just going to ignore me, huh, Jones?" the voice roared out angrily from the back, a good dose of venom dripping from every word._

Damn that driver for turning a blind eye all the time…

_ Alfred slowly turned his head around, gulping as he locked eyes with his aggressor. He said nothing as he took in the boy with the white-blonde locks and the prominent nose. The boy was sturdy in build—hell, he could double as a semi truck—and his lips were stretched back in a wide, shit-eating grin._

_ "'Heard your sis Amelia gives good blowjobs, you think you can get me a discount?" the teen called out smarmily, getting a good laugh from the rest of his group. "Hell, maybe the bitch would do it for free, huh? Such a slut." _

_ Alfred bit hard on his lower lip, doing his best to keep from cursing him out…Or more likely from breaking down in tears…_

_ It was true she sold her body. He cringed at the idea of it, already reminded on a daily basis by his peers of how easily she opened her legs. Said something about needing money…Though he didn't buy that crap for a second. She only did it to spite mom, angry at her for reasons he wasn't even sure of himself. Angry that she'd let dad go? That wasn't her fault, Alfred knew it. Angry that they were piss-poor broke? Probably. The girl loved herself some clothes (and everyone and their brother knew she was a druggy), but had no mind to go out and get a proper job._

_ He guessed sex was easy for her. Maybe the job was fun, too. Like hell if he knew._

_ He'd never let himself stoop so low…He already was dead set on being a hero…As unrealistic as many pointed out to him…_

_ "S-Shut up, bastard."_

Needless to say, he needed both a doctor visit and a new pair of glasses after.

* * *

"Reality's a bitch," the American grumbled to himself, shaking his head as he took in his severe lack of cape. He was no super hero, and he no longer needed someone to shove his face into the toilet to understand that.

But at least he was no longer God awful to look at. The acne had—miraculously enough—cleared up, and he actually looked pretty good.

Well duh, though. He wouldn't be in his line of work if he wasn't.

He made a move to scroll down through the rest of the story, fighting back a small guilty chuckle. _It almost feels like he's reading the dude's diary…_

…

It only seemed appropriate that said dude would call out through the front door, "Don't tell me you're all drunk!"

Shit.

* * *

Of course they'd be drunk. Of _bloody_ course they would be. Those two idiots no doubt scavenged the entire house in search for whatever alcohol they could get their grubby hands on. So why Arthur Kirkland was the smallest bit shocked surprised him. Perhaps he'd been assuming in the back of his mind that with Alfred here, they'd behave?

Ha! As if. He groaned to himself as he walked forward and saw them sprawled out drunkenly on his floor with a bottle emptied beside them on the table.

They looked like drunkards.

"Tsk, tsk. You two really are something." He complained under his breath.

It took a solid second or two after to whip his head around, suddenly noticing something missing here. Or, rather, not "something", but _"someone"._

"A-Alfred?" he called out curiously into the air, crossing his arms firmly over his chest and making his way over to the hall.

_Don't tell me they—_

He stopped that thought short, instantly dismissing the idea. Besides, why in the hell should he care anyway? B-But still…It wasn't something he liked to think about…

"Alfred?" he tried once more, slightly more desperate-sounding the second time around.

"O-Oh, Arthur. Hey!" an obnoxiously-American voice stuttered from his left, belonging to none other than the pale-as-a-ghost man leaning against the wall. He gave an uneasy smile to Arthur, fumbling about with his hands as he spoke.

'_That git must think I don't know he got into my liquor with the other two!'_

"Have a good time by yourself?" he wondered aloud, earning a gulp in response.

"Er, yeah…P-Perfect." The American replied, though he sounded like he was on trial for murder. Tch…

"Whatever. I'm retiring to my office. Tell me if those idiots wake up anytime soon, will you?" the Brit asked, though he didn't even wait for an answer, throwing open the door and shutting it behind him.

Oblivious to him, the American had never looked so relieved in his life.

"Alright…" Arthur mumbled to himself, not taking any notice to his slightly moved laptop. Perhaps if the word "erotica" wasn't plaguing his mind at the current moment, he might've also noticed that the rest of his room—or, well the chair and such—looked out of place as well.

"So…_sex_." He breathed out, opening up a tab in chrome and just _staring_ at the damned thing for a minute.

Eventually though, he willed his hands to type, writing out the first word he could think of.

_K…_He paused, slightly apprehensive of what he might find…_I….N…K…S…_

Kinks.

* * *

I hope this chapter was okay ;w; ~ Please review!


	16. Chapter 16

**I was really, really going to have this be a long chapter ;_; I got sick though and I haven't felt up to writing this entire week so far. It's been so long since the last update that I felt like I owed you guys a chapter u; So this one's short again. OTL I'm sorry!**

**Um, in regards to one of you asking how I'm going to "cure" Arthur's asexuality—it doesn't work that way. You can be asexual and still find love. For instance you get emotionally attached to one person over a period of time and wind up falling in love. You should really look it up! C:**

**I want to thank those that take the time to review! You guys are my motivation! I love you so much! 3**

**starrenPI, xXSconesandteaXx, Pastaperson, randompersonyay, Guest, How Convenient, Lunar Iris, HongKongxFrance, KitsuneMagic48, Llamas, LostUmbreon, Mizuki0623, ninjaco0kieXD, Singing Artist, yeaMen227, CherryBlossomKisses, Amelia F. Kirkland Jones, AkaiShinda, xD NaruSasuNaru, PeachyM00NShine**

**Warning: This chapter's a bit more suggestive than others. (no smut yet u *cough*…that may be the next chapter or the one after *cough*)**

* * *

_Eventually though, he willed his hands to type, writing out the first word he could think of._

_ K…He pauses, slightly apprehensive of what he might find…I….N…K…S…_

_ Kinks._

**16**

"You've got to be bloody kidding me right now." Arthur muttered, glaring at the search results. And to think he thought this whole thing would be simple. "Kinks," he read off the Google page, just short of fuming by now. "_An English rock band formed in Muswell Hill, North London, by brothers Ray and Dave Davies in 1964_."

He glared at it for a second longer. "That's not what I want, Google." He growled to the search engine under his breath.

Looks like he had to be more specific in his search.

Wonderful.

_SEX kinks, _he specified, sighing in relief as the _right_ pages flashed up on the screen. Though his relief would be short-lived.

He clicked on the third link. "A list of kinks- The Blanket Fort."

If Arthur could've flipped out any more, he would've thrown the bloody laptop across the wall and made a run for it.

But instead he just sat there in a terrified, or rather _revolted, _silence.

_Formicophilia - Sex play with ants__._

"Don't even try to envision it, Arthur. Don't even." He whispered encouragingly to himself, scrolling down in hopes the rest would be drastically different.

_Oculolinctus - Licking their partner's eyeball_

_Odaxelagnia - Biting/being bitten_

Well then, on that note there wasn't much of a chance of him sticking around on this site any longer. He went back a page, looking at the other website choices.

"House Eros." He mouthed, clicking one of the next links down.

_Consensual, Dirty Talking, Masturbation…_

He scrolled through the tags dully.

Only a certain few caught his interest.

_**Glasses**__: A character wearing glasses, or being aroused / attracted to a character wearing glasses._

_**Romantic**__: Displaying or expressing love or strong affection, passion, either during love making or during normal scenes._

"Glasses might work." He mumbled to himself, recalling how his character wore glasses to begin with. He'd wanted his "Alfred" to be at least _a little_ different from that American…Not like glasses were all that much of a change, but it worked… "And they're going to have to be in _love_ so 'romantic' would work as well…Tch, for Heaven's sake. It is a romance after all…or…_erotica I suppose now…_"

Still though, he could see that pain-in-the-arse editor of his laughing in his face. "_Too innocent_," he could envision him saying.

Knowing him though, he'd only be satisfied with something like S and M.

…He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

For the time being, these would work perfectly…Now,

"Just how in the hell do I write sex?!"

* * *

As it would turn out, much to the Brit's horror, writing off the top of his head proved useless. He had little to no clue past the obvious "the other guy takes it up the arse" (which of course got him started, but still…). What lead up to such a thing and what followed remained a mystery to him.

Not to say he hadn't tried searching it either. He read up on things like "stretching" and "lube" and he even went as far to open up one of those God-awful erotica novels his editor had lent him.

Still, the whole thing felt forced. He'd reread and reread passages he'd written and cringed. Arthur Kirkland wasn't an expert on sex, but he could tell when he was butchering the entire act. And he was. Tremendously so.

…And as it would turn out _again_, sex would prove to be the only thing on his mind. It was literally the only thing he could think of every second of every hellishly-long day (funny how long a week can drag on). That's how much it was bothering him. (To be brutally honest, he'd almost stabbed himself twice with a butter knife because of it…but that was most likely his fault for zoning out in the first place).

Still though, he couldn't get over it for the life of him. He'd wrack his brain again and again for reasons he couldn't do this. He'd written about other things he didn't know! In fact, you name it: parachuting, skydiving, killing a mob boss…

So why was s_ex_ of all things becoming an issue?

Tch...

"Oi, dude…Um, I know you don't like me bugging you, but you've been in your room all day and your brothers are—"A voice started up from the crack in the doorway, a blonde head peeking through.

"Hungry." Arthur finished him without missing a beat. "Yes. Well tell them they are more than able to fix themselves something. And if not, there are a couple eateries nearby. I'm sure it's not too long of a walk."

The American paused, honestly appearing a bit taken aback.

He composed himself rather quickly.

"Aren't you hungry too?" he spoke up finally, wrinkling his nose at the awkward silence closing in on the both of them.

Arthur's hands quit where they were, lifting up off the keyboard as he shifted in his seat, moving his body to face towards the door.

He said nothing in response, simply studying the man before him.

"Alfred. How long has it been that I've known you again?" he questioned, earning only a blank stare at first in reply.

Finally the boy began counting on his fingers. One, two, three…

"Three weeks? A month?" Alfred offered up to him.

"Mm…I see. Well then." He mused, leaning back in his chair and resting his head on his palm. "May I ask you something?"

Not like he could very well say no, but Arthur felt he needed to ask for the sake of being polite at least.

"Er…sure."

_Now how to word this_. Arthur drummed his fingers absentmindedly against the wooden desk beside him, searching for a proper way to phrase the question floating about in his mind.

"Well I suppose it doesn't very well matter how long I've known you to ask, but _for curiosity's sake_…what are your—?"

Alfred didn't even give him a chance to finish. "Do you hear that, dude?" he interrupted, nose scrunched up as if he was listening for the ticking of a bomb.

You've got to be kidding him.

Arthur heard it as well, but a nice little thing called _common sense_ already told him it was the phone. Which is precisely what he told him. "It's the phone, Alfred."

Silence.

"Are you going to get it?" the American asked boyishly.

Tch…Kill him now. "Do I _look _like I'm going to go and—"

It's almost as if everyone in this household just loves to cut him off.

Before he had a chance to finish, another sound accompanies the phone. Only this one was much, much, _much_ more annoying. Ten fold, really.

"Oi, let me answer it! I'VE GOT 'ET!" a voice rang out from the other end of the door._ Probably coming from just down the hall, if Arthur had to guess at least._

"Not on ye're life, y'tool!" the other argued, his retort followed by a loud clattering. "I'm answering the damn thing!"

"Hand 'et over!"

A thud this time.

Oh, happy day.

"You two break anything and I'll have your arses put up on my mantle!" The Brit screamed out, though he got no response as expected.

"Ello. Artie's residence. That tight ass can't come to the phone right n—." Scottie stopped himself suddenly, whatever joke he was planning on making freezing on his lips. "…Dylan? Why in the hell are _you _calling?"

A pause.

"Yeah, yeah alright. We'll leave in the morning."

* * *

**;w; please tell me what you think! keep in mind though I was sick while writing this, so it's not the best u**


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry for such a late update! :.U But I can't necessarily guarantee they're always going to be on time. School and life come in the way - ^ -; Um… As a token for waiting so long, you have…um…-looksaroundinmypockets- my undying love? OuO; Is that good enough for you guys?**

**Okay, okay, so before any of you ask _there's no smut in _this _chapter. _I 100% promise you though the next one will. u; yes I'm a bit of a tease =w='**

**My lovely editors: sasorilover7 and Shadowdemon321**

**Gyabasdfghgfd I love all of you reviewers: pastaperson, randompersonyey, NoelsTsundere, UkeHero, AlfredUSUK, liltwiheart15, MagicInTheDark, ninjaco0kieXD, AwesomeAviator, LostUmbreon, Annzy Bananzy, Lunar Iris, PeachyM00NShine, Shadowdemon321, CherryBlossomKisses, JasperSellene, thinkingthatifpeoplewererain, Allorahfox, xD NaruSasuNaru**

* * *

_Scottie stopped himself suddenly, whatever joke he was planning on making freezing on his lips. "…Dylan? Why in the hell are you calling?"_

_ A pause._

_ "Yeah, yeah alright. We'll leave in the morning."_

* * *

17

His mouth had gone dry within an instant. Dry as the bloody Sahara if you asked him. (Though that comparison was horribly cliché and you couldn't get him through any extensive torture to write it down in his book…)

Regardless, Arthur was suddenly parched and found he couldn't will himself to do much else than stand there in complete silence. True, he should've been jumping for joy at this moment…True he should've ran up and kicked them out this instant (_"Why __wait until the morning you two?__")…_ But he did none of those things.

He just stood there.

He stood there and waited… Waited until the two exchanged a hushed word with one another and then began walking up to the door, hesitating before giving the wood a small rap…

"Arthur?"

Which one of them had spoke, Arthur couldn't be quite certain.

"Er…eherm…" the Brit cleared his throat, patting absentmindedly at his cheeks to wake himself from his trance. "What the hell do the two of you want?" he asked, feigning anger but failing awfully. He sounded more confused and lost now than anything as he creaked open the door.

"Y'probably heard, mm?" came their reply, an uneasy look painted on the both of their faces.

"Bits and pieces, yes."

Scottie was the one to talk this time, resting his side against the doorway and combing his fingers through his hair dully.

"Well then don't be an arse, okay? The least you can do is take us out to eat."

…Heh?

His expression must've spoken for himself because a second hadn't gone by before the git was opening his mouth to speak again. _How that mouth-breather can multitask breathing and talking nonsense, Arthur will never know…_

"Bastard bro'ther o' ours thinks thut—." Scottie started only to be shushed frantically by the man before him.

"Speak regularly, you twat."

He rolled his eyes, but obliged. "Dylan says apparently Nessie's been beached. We got to go help 'er out and the least you can do before we go is fill us up with a good meal." He answered, a sarcastic smile creeping up his lips.

"Save it." Arthur retorted bitterly, having none of it.

A sigh. "My my, on your period now aren't you, Miss Artiekins? Fine." He scratched at the back of his neck, looking over tentatively at Erin beside him. "Bloody maids decided they were going to up and riot over their wages. 'Then bloody Dylan got called up _and called _me_ up_ on the bloody phone and I'm going to have to march my arse back over there to take care of it all." He explained with a small shrug, doing his best to act as if it was all nothing.

Though it was clear on his face that it was far from nothing.

"Poor you. You'll have to clean up on your own. _How awful."_ Arthur responded, sneaking a quick peek over at Alfred. As confusing as it was to him, he couldn't help but find it just the teensiest bit cute how shocked the boy seemed to be. He didn't entirely blame him. Those two oafs in front of him hardly seemed as if they'd have a penny to their name.

"Fine, fine. I'll pay for a bloody meal for the lot of you and then you two need to leave, alright?"

They exchanged yet _another_ irritating, knowing look between themselves before answering.

"Got it, captain."

* * *

It's not that Alfred _disliked_ places like this…

He leaned back in his seat, eyes roaming around the place curiously, not all too sure what to make of it.

He didn't dislike it; he just felt…felt….

Heh. Uncomfortable? Was that it?

Not saying he hadn't been to high end restaurants like this before though. Many customers had tried the whole "wine and dine" approach. Well, some at least. He could never tell just what kind of guy he was going to get. The "I've-got-money-coming-out-my-rear-end" type that always took him out to dinner and then back to some fancy hotel and fucked him there…or the "who-knows-how-I'm-able-to-afford-even-_looking_-at-you" type that just took him to some rundown motel and did him there…

Pffsht. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

Whatever the case, he felt weird… _and the fact that the dude taking their order __was wearing a fucking bowtie __wasn't helping_.

"Fancy enough?" Artie all-but-snapped at them, smooshing the side of his face as he rested his cheek on his palm.

At least the dude wasn't throwing punches just yet…Alfred could see him doing something like that in a second here. What with them picking out the _most expensive_ restaurant they could after all…

"Ah' do wonder if ye pay extra, I could get a foot massage too?" Erin piped up cheerfully, only to earn a glare in response.

Alfred guessed that meant "no".

"Be glad there are witnesses here. All of you." Arthur growled quietly under his breath, though Alfred had to say with the way his face was smooshed liked that with his hand he looked hardly intimidating.

"Yeah, yeah. We're all so scared of ye." Scottie snorted, waving down the waiter with his hand and looking just about as unphased as one could get.

Alfred took in the auburn-haired man with narrowed eyes, not quite sure what to make of the man's ear-to-ear grin and weird little curl. Not like he should be talking with that pesky little cowlick of his, but still…

"Vee," the noise that came from the man's lips seemed to send the entire table off guard. His accent sounded…foreign. Foreign, but hard for Alfred to identify. A giggle soon followed and the boy quickly straightened his bow tie and poked at his lips with his pen. "Can I get you all something to drink? Maybe an entrée too if you're ready?" he inquired sweetly, brown eyes wide and bright. Something flashed in his eyes and he quickly lifted up a finger as if remembering something important.

"Oh! Our special today is clam chowder and…um…._v-ve_…..one second," he pleaded, suddenly looking forgetful once more. "Eh…don't tell me! I got this one!"

He tapped at his lips once more, nervously peering over his shoulder after a second as if half expecting someone to be watching him.

Must've been psychic.

The waiter was suddenly lurched back by a pale, wide hand, stumbling back into the chest of a bulky blonde in uniform as well, seemingly one of the managers from appearance. "Feli." the deep voice sighed, looking as if he was ready to slap his own forehead from irritation any second. He then turned focus to the table, managing a weak smile.

"I'm sorry. He's…er…." The _other_ heavily-accented man searched for the appropriate word, scratching at the back of his neck. "He's _new_."

_I could care less about the fucking specials._ Alfred groaned inwardly, leaning his cheek against his palm and chewing on his lower lip to distract himself from his gnawing hunger.

"Allow me to take your orders instead." The man insisted with just a bit of unease, throwing a nervous look back at the bubbly boy behind him. "The specials today are—."

_Alfred sincerely doubted this restaurant had hamburgers…_

* * *

"Oi, real nice o' ye to pay for the whole meal, Ms. Artiekins." Scottie snickered as soon as the doors to the restaurant were closed behind him. "Didn't think ye had the money, squirt."

"Nice my arse. I was paying for you to leave." He retorted, growing increasingly _jumpier_ the longer this seemed to be taking. He scratched awkwardly at his neck, eyes getting shifty. "Er...so I _do assume_ you two are leaving now. Correct?" he affirmed.

The two redheads met each other with a similar smirk. "Mm, wouldn't want to get in between you two love birds much longer. 'Sides. We have to get that maid issue resolved, eh brother?" Erin asked, nudging the other in the side.

"Sure thing. 'Couldn't have said it better, _lad_." Scottie snorted, whipping out his wallet and leafing through it. "Guess we'll just hail a cab, mm?" he mused.

"_Couldn't have said it better, lad."_ Arthur quipped back sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, yanking possessively at the American beside him and drawing him in. He turned around only once to wiggle his fingers in goodbye. "Good luck hailing a cab you two. _Tell mum 'hi' for me_."

* * *

What Arthur was so anxious for, Alfred couldn't have anticipated. The only thing he knew for certain—other than the fact that it was fucking awkward sitting in a quiet car with him—was that he was anxious about _something._

And it was bothering him.

He peered over curiously, watching as the Brit's fingers drummed lightly against the wheel. His eyes locked on the road before him.

Part of him wondered if he should say something about the book. If he should _ever_ say anything about that, for that matter…

He quickly decided against it. The last thing he wanted for was the man to get angry and cut this …this _thing_ off short.

'_Because I don't want to get some bigger weirdo instead…_' he tried to rationalize inwardly, though he knew he was kidding himself there.

It was something more. Whatever the heck that might be.

"Alfred." Arthur broke the silence finally, refusing again to even make eye contact with him, pulling up slowly into the driveway, vision locked just on the stretch of pavement before him.

He was going to drive him fucking crazy.

Alfred perked up at his name, looking over in his direction with a lift of his brow.

"I'm changing things…" the Brit started with a cough, pausing momentarily to run the next part over in his mind before speaking. "Temporarily, of course." He finished (_still not fucking finishing his first thought, thank you very much. That little tidbit was pretty much driving Alfred insane) _parking the car and easing the door open slowly, closing it behind him and dusting his hands off on his pants.

Well if _that_ didn't help things…

"What sort of things?" Alfred had to question, the list of possibilities running through his head growing by the second and starting to give him just a little bit of a headache.

"Mm," came his reply, only feeding into Alfred's curiosity—or _frustration—_more.

_Damn him._

* * *

_Of course w__ith Alfred's luck_ Kirkland didn't open his damn mouth until ten to fifteen minutes later after he'd left him just hanging there in the car. He kept an awkward silence going, hanging his coat up slowly upon the rack, slipping on his house shoes…and of course…there was that last thing.

If Alfred saw correctly—which he could've 100% guaranteed to you that he had—Arthur had _beckoned him over_ with his finger as soon as Jones had looked up at him in the hallway. Beckoned him to _follow__ him_. In which case if the American wasn't losing it, was straight back to his room.

He rubbed his eyes with his hands, determined he must be seeing things. Maybe that weird waiter of his slipped him something…?

_On second thought maybe he _was _losing it._

"E-Erhm.." Alfred cleared his throat in response, willing his legs to move and follow as instructed. '_Dammit, Jones…' _he chided himself internally, not having a clue as to why he's this nervous.

He really wasn't and had never been the type to break a sweat up over nothing. And _this_, he told himself, was just that. Nothing.

Still. Alfred couldn't help but entertain that whole "prostitute-killer-Englishman" theory of his once more.

That, if you asked him, was ten billion times more likely than anything else…

Whether that was or wasn't a cause for more unease, he couldn't be too sure…

"I have something I need to tell you." The thin-lipped man before him informed him finally, running his fingers messily through his hair and shutting the bedroom door behind them both as soon as Alfred had walked in.

'_Well this ought to be good__'_, Alfred found himself thinking, snapping back to reality instantly.

'_You're going to tell me you're writing a book about me, aren't you Artiekins?'_

Alfred could only assume he'd tell him what he already knew. He dug his hands in his pockets, plopping down on the corner of his bed as soon as he'd reached the other's room.

Nevertheless though, he still found himself giving the perimeter a quick right-to-left scan to ensure there were no hidden weapons or anything…

Looks like the area was relatively weapon-free to him…well, _erhemph_…excluding the worn copy of _Little Women_ sitting on the counter by the bed…

Alfred assumed that could kill just about anyone. He shook his head though, trying to clear his thoughts.

_'He's not a serial killer, Jones…Get a hold of yourself!'_

Almost as if awaiting an answer to that earlier question about the book, Alfred peered upwards, tapping on his cheek as if he was convinced he could somehow tap out Morse code to him.

He didn't even fucking know Morse code.

Not even "SOS", _which really_, he thought, _might come in handy here._

What came next just about sent him trying.

"You get paid to have sex with people, right?" the Brit asked simply, examining his cuticles and refusing to look up his way.

...Heh?

Okay, really he shouldn't have been _this_ shocked…But…

He scratched at his neck, hesitating for a split second when he thought he saw just the faintest bit of blush on the man's face…

"Yeah." He answered bluntly, though it wasn't hard to tell there was a bit of a nervous undertone squeezed somewhere in there.

Why he was nervous? Beat him. He honestly didn't have a clue. _'I get _paid_ to have sex…why the hell am I becoming such a prude?!'_

"Well then." the Englishman drew out quietly, sitting himself down beside him (_far back enough that Alfred might've guessed he thought he had the plague_)… "I've decided to change some things up from what I told you before." He finished with a cough, nearing forward.

Now Alfred _really_ wished he knew SOS.

"I want you to have sex with me."

* * *

mwahahahahahhah =u=


	18. Chapter 18

**Oh my gosh. I didn't even want to publish this -;; You guys wanted sex though…and it's been awhile since I've lasted updated…and…well…/u/ I tried. Also, at the end there it may seem a bit weird, but I plan to explain everything in the next chapter. Agh. *rollsaroundinselfpity* here you guys go. If you need me, I'll be hiding under a rock. –squirmsanddies-**

**You all are wonderful ;w; : OzzieLiber-Tea, Alfieboywonder, Britishchick95, xD NaruSasuNaru, USUK fangirl o3o, PeachyM00NShine, ninjaco0kieXD, Pastaperson, Elisabetta, yeaMen227, CherryBlossomKisses, starrenPI, AkaiShinda, NoelsTsundere, Dolly-Doll-Face, Sxvgwii, AlfredUSUK, MagicInTheDark, DeiDeiArtistic, thinkingthatifpeoplewererain, Lunar Iris, P3eace9797**

**And thank you all for 300 reviews! ;-; you make me beyond happy! :,T**

**Oh and before any of you ask, yes asexuals can have sex. Also, if Arthur falls in love with someone (namely Alfred *cough* eue;) that doesn't mean he's "cured" or better yet that asexuality is something that need to be "cured" in the first place =u=; asdfghjkhgf, this entire chapter is weird and dumb. I'm done. Byeee~**

* * *

"_Well then." the Englishman drew out quietly, sitting himself down beside him (far back enough that Alfred might've guessed he thought he had the plague)… "I've decided to change some things up from what I told you before." He finished with a cough, nearing forward._

_ "I want you to have sex with me."_

Chapter 18

Honest to God, Arthur had prepped himself for a lot worse. The three painful hours preceding this had allotted him _just_ enough time to bloody well prepare for about anything. (Laughter, rejection…everything!) Hell, he'd even run over the possibility of a freak meteor shower.

Not to say with the blank stare he was receiving now, he wouldn't have _preferred that…_

Damn it all, really. Why was he making that face?!

"Keep your mouth open any longer and you're bloody well going to attract flies." The Brit quipped, only to want to slap himself in the face two seconds later for saying it.

_You're so seductive, Kirkland._ He thought blandly, a sarcastic edge to his words. _How _do _you do it?_

Now the boy was not only confused, but mildly pissed off as well. He could tell by the small furrow in his brows. That and the not-so-discreet puffing of his cheeks…

_Way to go, Arthur. Way to go…_

He ground his teeth, doing his best to target the blame elsewhere. I-It wasn't precisely his fault. That American was a prostitute. Shouldn't he be willingly bending over right now on command?! What man of his profession acted sheepish about something of this nature?

He dug absentmindedly at his skin, distracting himself from this awkward situation with just a little bit of pain.

Or, well, he attempted to distract himself at least. It was rather hard to do so with two wide _cerulean_ blue eyes boring into his skull.

"Uh…um…sure. Yeah. We can do that." The fellow blonde cleared his throat after a moment, looking rather uncomfortable with the new situation. "I'll have sex with you." the American took a deep breath as if trying to channel up some attitude he'd had previously with other clients. If you asked Arthur though, his smirk looked a bit forced… It took a solid moment before the prostitute leaned back onto the bed, peering up curiously at the man still standing. "Top or bottom?"

Had he just agreed…? Arthur's eyes widened in response, his mind working at a mile a minute to process what was said. '_He can't possibly mean __that__…_Wait a minute, Kirkland! _Get a hold of yourself! This is what you want!__ He's even letting you pick the position!__'_

"….I-I'll be on top of course," came his quick response, having read up long enough to know this was the more favorable of the two. '_There's no way that idiot is getting inside of me!'_

Alfred's lips pulled back at that answer, a soft, teasing chuckle escaping his lips. "Have you ever had sex before, _Arthur?"_ he whispered, almost as if he was a teenage girl gossiping.

Oh great. He should've known the taunting was inevitable…And why the hell was he saying his full name all of a sudden?

"So what if I haven't? Does it matter?" he shot back, not knowing a prostitute to ever talk back. Or, well, he hadn't ever known a prostitute, _period,_ but that hardly mattered now.

"I'd like to think so." The other supplied, playing with the first button on his shirt as he observed the man before him. "It'd be…_easier_ for you to let me do the work…" he trailed off with a soft groan, but shrugged all the same. "Unless you know what to do of course, dude..."

Did Arthur truly know what to do? Well…the basics of course. _He stretches him somehow and then pushes in, right?_ Gently. Any idiot could get that much.

Still… "Guide me a little." Arthur requested timidly, halfway hoping for the boy to not even hear him.

No such luck.

Alfred's hand shot out before Kirkland could even register it, gripping his wrist tightly and throwing him back onto the bed, landing smack on top of the blue-eyed blonde.

"Take my clothes off first," was his first instruction, accompanied by another small chuckle. The childish eagerness in his eyes betrayed the mood, but Arthur didn't mind it much.

In fact, _he could very much use that._ He'd have to store it for later use.

He must've been lost in his own thoughts, because it wasn't long until the other felt it necessary to send him back to reality.

"Unless you'd rather have some foreplay before?" Jones piped up, tilting his head as if trying to figure out the situation here. "_You know,_ most aren't turned on having to plan out every little step along the way…You sure you don't want me taking charge?"

Damn it all, there was no way he was going to sit there and let someone penetrate him. He very much liked being able to walk, thank you.

"Shut up," he found himself growling into the other's lips, pushing the boy down farther into the mattress, if only for the sake of getting him to be quiet.

_And it did the trick_. The boy's lips responded back just as eagerly, his fingers reaching up and knotting with his hair, getting in fistfuls as desperately as he could.

Surprisingly enough…he didn't hate it.

_He didn't hate it. He didn't hate it. He didn't hate it._ What the hell was wrong with him?! No matter how many times the phrase looped in his brain, he couldn't make sense of it.

With the way things were going now, very little was making any sense whatsoever. But he honestly couldn't bring himself to care much.

He took heed to the American first instruction, aiding him in popping the rest of those buttons and slipping his shirt off.

"D-Do you want me to fold it?" he panted onto the other's lips, knowing that wasn't the least bit sexy, but not having it in him to just crumple it and throw it onto the floor. His OCD wouldn't allow it.

He gained a small snort in reply. "I love how you talk dirty to me." Alfred snickered sarcastically, waving his hand in dismissal, letting the Brit do what he wanted.

Arthur flushed, but took the opportunity to neatly fold the shirt and set it gently onto the floor.

"Would you like to fold my pants as well? Boxers?" Alfred challenged, smirking heavily as he took the liberty to shrug off the remaining clothes on his own.

If the entire bloody thing wasn't so essential to his novel, Arthur would've pushed him and his smartass attitude right off the fucking bed.

But it was indeed _essential._ So all Arthur did was grin and bear it, snatching up the articles of clothing Alfred had left for him and giving in to his obsessive compulsive desires.

It didn't dawn on him until after he'd set down the rest of the clothes that the man before him was in the nude.

"_Oh sweet Lor_—!" Arthur began to sputter, unable to even finish that thought as his eyes ran up and down the man before him. He'd never been one to be speechless, but he really found himself at a lack for words.

Was it just that he was taken off guard? He attempted to rationalize the feeling crawling up inside of him, but found it was easier said than done.

"Like what you see, Artie? _You can touch me y'__know_." Alfred assured coyly, slowly guided the Brit's hand down the taunt muscles of his stomach, leading his fingers down until he was cupping him firmly (if Arthur could only see his reflection right now…). "Nng, are you good with your hands at least, _Arthuuur_…?" he hoped, a small mewl erupting from the back of his throat already.

D-Did Arthur really sign himself up for this?!

He gulped, shaking his head no in reply. To be honest, he hadn't even the faintest as to what to do.

The American looked like he expected as much.

"Touch me."

He found he wasn't the slightest bit immune to the blushing, panting mess before him.

He did as told.

"T-Tell me if I'm messing up," he pleaded under his breath, something thoroughly out of character for him. Arthur tentatively began to pump the boy in front of him, cheeks darkening every time he was able to earn a grunt or moan in response. Though with his clumsy, awkward hands, it wasn't nearly as much as he would've liked.

"F-Faster, dammit!" Alfred bit out, wriggling around underneath Arthur's pale hands, gripping tightly at the sheets. "Mm…Fuck, Arthur…Hell."

_Should he take all that cursing as a good thing?_

Arthur blinked twice, quickening the movements of his hands as asked. He should've taken that look on his face as a good indication…

…

_ Still he would've sure liked a proper warning ahead of time._

The blonde came out into his hands, finishing up with a final wanton noise—one that sent the hairs on Arthur's back standing upright.

"Hah…ha…Better than I would've thought…" Alfred assured the blushing man hovering over him, throwing his arms up and wrapping them around his neck.

_Probably says that to everyone…_

"Mm, don't look so down." The words as well as the finger lifting up at his chin jolted him out of his thoughts.

"_It's your turn now after all_."

Arthur's breath hitched in his throat, those words causing him to freeze right in his tracks. "My turn…" he murmured softly, positive he'd find some way to screw things up. Perhaps even pass out.

"Do you want me to turn around?" Alfred suggested, running his hands up Arthur's shirt impatiently as he awaited his reply.

_No good. No good. _Arthur shook his head, not about to pass out on this opportunity. '_Imagine all the lines__ of description__ you__ can __get from this, Kirkland!'_He reminded himself, though for some odd reason or another, he found himself not caring much about that in the first place.

"No!" he burst out a little too loudly, a swarm of color rising up his features seconds after. _Compose yourself!_ He chided internally, gulping down his embarrassment. "N-No." he repeated, much calmer the second time around.

_Smooth._

* * *

So maybe this hadn't been the most enjoyable experience so far for Alfred.

_Pick the most painful, awkward position,__why don't you?_ He pouted, unable to help the little bit of resentment lingering about in his tone. It's not as if he really minded Arthur's inexperienced ass pounding him into the mattress—okay perhaps a little. But that was justified!—no, no what Alfred really was upset about was that…_well_…

It sounded stupid, but he wasn't entirely sure. He was upset, but he couldn't figure out the reason for the life of him.

Something about how distant Arthur seemed through all of this…It bugged him though. More than it should've. Tch…

_What are you, Alfred, _stupid_?! He's a client as much as you've let yourself forget it! An asexual one at that! _(Which, of course, posed other questions in his naïve mind, but he didn't bother searching for answers.) _Get a grip!_

_Oh and in case you didn't remember, he's writing a book._

He blinked, suddenly realizing Artie had just been staring at him this entire time. Well great. _Now he was the one spacing out._

"Ah…We can do it this way then." He assured the fake lover before him, reaching forward in an attempt to free the man from his pants, tugging down anxiously at his zipper and reaching into his boxers.

"Er…should I take it you don't have lube?"

The look on the Brit's face was utterly priceless.

"I-I…er…uh…of course not you idiot!" Arthur snapped finally; face heating up hotly and maintaining a dark red even as he attempted to pat away the color.

Should he really have expected as much?! The British virgin in front of him barely even looked like he knew what lube _was in the first place._

Alfred couldn't help but press on.

"…Vaseline?" he hoped against all rational thought.

The Briton before him paused to consider the question, nibbling and biting at his lower lip, eyes flickering away in response. He didn't even need to open his damn mouth for Alfred to know the dude was planning on just wetting his fingers and going in that way.

"…Er….To be dreadfully honest, I'm out of that…"

Perfect.

"Spit, then. Well." Alfred mused to himself, not kidding when he said that this was going to _suck_. He chuckled despite it all, a bit amused by the juvenile little joke he made.

"It's safe to assume no condoms either, huh, buddy?" Alfred cracked, sincerely beginning to wonder about this 20-something-year-old virgin. _Not like he hadn't wondered before__, but__…_He rolled his eyes once, lifting a finger to the man before him and crawling off the bed. "I have one. Gimme a second." _Oh for the love of all that's holy, please tell me he at least will know how to put it on…_

* * *

He didn't.

Of course he wouldn't. Really. What on earth was Alfred expecting?! _Yeah I've never had sex in my life but I'm surprisingly good at rolling a condom, thank you. _He snorted at the thought.

Didn't they teach it in high school? If not in some awkward sex-ed class, wouldn't he at least have heard something about it on the bus or at lunch?!

_Apparently not_ and the way the Brit was examining it and waving it around in the air was really starting to worry him.

"Pinch it first." He grunted, crawling over to the clueless man-boy in front of him and reaching around him to help out a little. "Then roll in the direction you're going with your finger."

"Now…" he drawled, holding the rubber a couple inches from the older man, a hot breath expelling on the back of his neck. "We have to get you a little excited first, mm?"

He didn't have to look at Arthur's face to know he was bright red.

Alfred ran his free finger agonizingly-slow up from the tip to base, circling parts of the skin, waiting to finally spark a reaction from him. He stood erect after what felt like ages and Alfred took it upon himself to slip the thing on for him.

_Time to not only do the work for him, but get pounded into the mattress.__ Fun, fun…_

Before he could even start his little pity party, a hand was on his chest and he was all but thrown backwards onto the sheets.

"…L-Lie down, will you?" A very fed-up looking Arthur commanded, the little bit of initiative in his voice startling Alfred more than he would've cared to admit.

_Why in the hell was he suddenly so aggressive?!_ He scanned the man's face, looking for some possible explanation to this bizarre attitude shift. Alfred blinked up at him, but didn't bother arguing. He'd gone completely silent.

And a good thing for that because his lips were suddenly very much busy, his arms pinned above him and the Brit crawling up on top of him, straddling his hips.

Kirkland ran his tongue along the other's lower lip, pushing the wet muscle in only seconds after Alfred had even begun to register what he was doing.

He broke away from the kiss slowly, lips moist and eyes darkened, the once-green irises a much deeper, lust-filled shade. Whatever the hell it was about that look, Alfred had no clue, but it sure sent shivers running up his spine.

Still. Alfred had _seen _sexually-frustrated clients. But this…? What on Earth _was this even?! _He wanted nothing more in the world right then to be able to see into his mind and figure out just what the flying fuck was going on.

"A-Arthur, I—." he began, his timid voice only proving to startle himself, his sentence falling short as his leg was lifted up. "I-I, uh…" he tried and failed once more, his eyes widening as he was forced yet again to show off his flexibility to one of his clients.

The Brit quieted him with a single finger, popping it into his mouth without permission, the purpose clear. "Suck…" He cleared his throat, a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. "It's not lube, but you already said it's the only option…" he apologized quietly, and Alfred was certain he could hear his heart hammering against his chest loudly as he began to coat the first finger up evenly, his tongue swirling around the digit.

The American gripped Arthur's wrist finally, taking in other fingers as well. He let himself wet the rest of them, delighting in the small popping noise they made as they left his lips.

"You know what to do, right?" Alfred hoped to assure, his half-lidded eyes flickering to the now-nearing finger, watching as it approached his puckered hole. _Please know at least this much._

"I'm pretty sure I can figure it out." Arthur answered softly, wriggling the finger inside as gently as he could manage.

Jones parted his lips at the feeling, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he tried resisting the urge to squirm. _Remember Alfred. Deep breaths…_

Alfred was never one for this part. He always hated being stretched. Having something slide in him…Damn it, he hated to feel like he was going to rip in two any second!

"G-Go ahead and add another finger." He whispered, nodding slightly to cue the Englishman to ease in the other two.

The Brit continued stretching him, looking up curiously every now and again as if to make sure he wasn't screwing up somewhere or another.

"Hah…here comes the opening act…" Alfred managed to joke, squeezing his words in between heavy panting. He watched expectantly as the fingers were removed and the real thing pressed up against him slowly, pushing in as soon as he gave the word.

"N-Nng…Fuck…" The younger of the two cursed under his breath, unable to cope with this excruciating feeling without a swear word or two mixed in.

"S-Slower?" Arthur questioned, batting an eye open curiously as he continued to slide in.

Alfred only dismissed him. "'M fine…high pain tolerance…" he assured him, letting his head fall back completely onto one of the pillows as he let the Brit fill him.

"A-Am I allowed to move?" Arthur whispered into the crook of his neck, still keeping the American's right leg lifted as he leaned forward.

Alfred only smirked in response. "Would I really tell you otherwise?" he wanted to know, finding the idea almost humorous himself.

Arthur flushed darkly, giving the American a sheepish nod if he'd ever seen one, drawing back before ramming into him once more. The sudden feeling had a small gasp erupting from Alfred's lips, the sound being accompanied by Arthur pushing forward again with a grunt.

It didn't take the two of them long enough to discover a steady rhythm between them both, skin slapping against skin, the two of them tangled in what previously would've been an unimaginable, _unthinkable_ position.

And here they were.

_No touching rule, Alfred's ass._

…Literally.

* * *

******Hopefully I won't want to delete this chapter and start over later u**

******Yes I know, I know. =w= all shall be explained in the next chapter~ /hidesagain/**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Asdfghgfd TTOTT It's almost been a month since my last update. I suck you guys; I'm sorry! I'm also super sorry that this chapter's short. I was barely able to write this much since I'm so preoccupied with everything OTL Forgive me?**

**Shout out to these beautiful reviewers (´**；**ω**；**`) : AlfredFingJones, Llamas, Lapultas, StarkidWolf, OzzieLiber-Tea, Lunar Iris, Guest (please put a nickname ;w; so I can acknowledge you guys too!), Pastaperson, Alfieboywonder, xD NaruSasuNaru, SpyMiss, yeaMen227, starrenPI, RizafromKeron, PeachyM00NShine, 01blackcat02, NoelsTsundere, KitsuneMagic48, P3ace9797, thinkingthatifpeoplewererain**

**;O; you guys keep me motivated! I'm also sorry if this chapter's a bit rough around the edges :,T**

* * *

_It didn't take the two of them long enough to discover a steady rhythm between them both, skin slapping against skin, the two of them tangled in what previously would've been an unimaginable, unthinkable position._

_And here they were._

_No touching rule, Alfred's ass._

…_Literally._

* * *

19

_For fuck's sake, get it together you twat_.

Arthur's lips curled back, a low and frustrated (and irritably defiant!) noise ripping out of his throat in response. There was no possible way he could stop himself. He couldn't bloody well follow through with _anything_ his mind was ordering.

At some point in this awkward, awful, _wonderful_ experience, he'd felt a distinction made, a separation of rational thought and…_and this. _This carnal urge bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

It was downright ridiculous.

In fact, Arthur made a mental note to completely skip this feeling in his book. It was cliché and annoying.

But real. Dammit how it was real.

The lighter blonde grimaced.

He had gone and bloody lost himself and he could sense it. He could sense that_ Alfred could sense it, too._ And if that wasn't the most unnerving, awful part of it all, he didn't know what was.

Though with the way these hips were moving, it's not as if the boy could've bothered commenting on it anyway.

No, no, no. The Briton was ramming much too hard and far too fast.

He might've felt guilty about it under other circumstances…

But even if he had, he doubted he would've stopped himself.

"D-Damn it, Alfred!" He cursed aloud—as opposed to the many expletives coursing through his mind at the moment—"Nng…"

He bit down on the boy's shoulder, emptying himself with a satisfied grunt. In hindsight, a proper warning might've been nice. But Arthur was anything but "nice" at the moment, and he couldn't have been bothered.

* * *

"_Soooo_," Alfred drawled, batting his baby blues at the worn-out lover collapsed beside him. "Are you the after-sex-snuggle-sort-of-guy?" he mused childishly, a mock sweetness to his voice. He rested his cheek on his palm, letting two of his fingers stroll across the sheets towards the messy, sex-haired Brit.

Before the man could even mutter out something bitter in response, he suddenly had a clingy American latched onto him, grinning widely. "I figured you were." He purred in reply to Arthur's blank stare, burrowing his cheek into the man's chest.

'_How cute. I've got him flustered.' _

"You were good." He lied with a bit of a smirk, tapping the Englishman's lips with his finger. "Best yet."

_'Just say what you always say, Jones.'_

If only it was that easy.

"I swear to God if you're going to badger me about that…._that thing we did_, I'll kick you off the bloody bed." Arthur promised with a sneer, his cheeks stained a dark red and his brows furrowed.

It took Alfred a moment, but a genuine chuckle escaped his lips and he nuzzled into him a bit more.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Artie." He snickered, pulling the covers up over the both of them and running his fingers along the other's smooth skin.

"G-Good." Arthur retorted, multitasking keeping a wary eye on the boy and trying to settle his rapidly-beating heart. "N-Now give me some bloody space if you'd be ever-so-kind."

"Who says I'm kind?" Alfred chucked deviously, licking his lips slowly and hoping to spark a reaction.

The only reaction he sparked was an elbow to the side.

"O-Ow! Fuck, man!" Alfred complained rubbing his skin and giving the other puffed out cheeks. "I was just playing, dude." He whined.

"Y-Yeah yeah, whatever…I told you not to mess with me like that."

_Oh__—_

"You did not!" Alfred shot back, wrinkling his nose and pouting more.

"Did too you asshat!"

_Hell__—_

"You said to give you space. That's it!"

Arthur huffed. "It was implied."

_No._

The American tackled him on the bed, mischievous laughter ringing from his lips as he tugged at the man's cheeks and pinned him down.

"O-Oi! What in the hell do you think you're doing?!" Kirkland sputtered up at him, bright green eyes locked onto his every movement.

"I told you not to make things up." Alfred replied simply.

"W-What the hell—? You did not—!"

The younger couldn't fight the urge to grin. "It was implied."

"Oh, you little bugger!" Arthur accused, though to be honest, he looked a bit amused as well. "We'll see who gets the last laugh, mm?" he shot, reaching up and squishing at the darker blonde's cheeks.

It didn't take an Einstein to figure out how this would end up.

* * *

"…Dude… Is it safe to assume you're worn out for the day?" Alfred whimpered softly, his breathed ragged and skin flushed from the second round.

"Y-You're the one who bloody well started it!" Arthur snapped defensively, tossing to his side to avoid any further humiliation.

"Right. Right." Jones played along sarcastically, though he sounded deflated at best, curling up finally in the Englishman's back and resting his head against the pillow. "I usually can last a lot longer than this." He assured.

"Oh? Is that so?" Arthur mumbled halfheartedly, having difficulty considering that possibility. "Good for you." He congratulated bitterly.

The two exchanged a pregnant silence for a moment or two, though it wasn't long before Alfred spoke up once more.

"I gotta say yours was the most interesting."

Arthur's cheeks burned hotly, and he didn't dare turn around and look the other in the eyes. "O-Oh?" he replied sheepishly, attempting to mask his embarrassment with a cough.

"You're not like the usuals I get." The American continued, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "They're bastards, most of them—p_ardon my French, dude._"—Arthur winced at the mere mention of the country—"They come in, they do as they please, and after we've fucked they're gone. I mean, not that I'm really complaining…It's my job after all. It just sucks a little, y'know? No one stays around…"

Arthur stayed quiet, merely soaking in those words with narrowed eyes. "You signed up for this job." He reminded, not meaning to sound nearly as harsh as he did.

He earned a small sigh in reply, Alfred pressing a tight-lipped frown to the back of the Briton's neck.

"I was so dumb when I took on this job. You wouldn't even believe it."

Arthur cocked a brow. "Easy money?" he tried, but was shot down instantly.

"I wish I could say that was the reason. It's a lot worse than you'd expect."

The Englishman rolled over finally, blinking up at the troubled boy.

"…Care to discuss?"

He was rewarded with a weak smile. "If you'd care to listen."

And…Surprisingly enough, Arthur found himself caring. He found himself caring a lot.

* * *

short chapter was short (。┰ω┰。) sorry


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: asdfghjhgfd this chapter is so angsty QuQ I apologize. Also, there are some trigger warnings so listen up! :T~**

**WARNINGS: mentions of suicide (don't worry, it's not alfie or arthur), cutting, eating disorders and the like**

**you've been warned :o**

**anyhoo this was actually one of the funnest chapters to write? eue *feels slightly awful for admitting that* I feel like this story is on it's last arc ;3; believe it or not~ I'm sort of winging this as I go.**

** Lovely reviewers: Alfieboywonder, DeiDeiArtistic, nikkicchi, Vatimiss, Pastaperson, ExcitedAnon, OzzieLiber-Tea, xD NaruSasuNaru, Louise-Maria, PeachyM00NShine, StarkidWolf,KitsuneMagic48, El Tord, RizaFromKeron, Dolly-Doll-Face, thinkingthatifpeoplewererain, Shadowdemon321, P3ace9797, CherryBlossomKisses, Teenage Mouse**

**Edited by Shadowdemon321**

* * *

"…Care to discuss?"

He was rewarded with a weak smile. "If you'd care to listen."

And…Surprisingly enough, Arthur found himself caring. He found himself caring a lot.

* * *

Chapter 20

Alfred was both equally astonished and appalled with himself.

Despite whatcommon sense_—__what little left of it he still clung to, for that matter__—_told him, he found himself wanting to open up to the gruff, grumpy Brit lying beside him anyway. It was hard _not_ to. It was hard not to want to do anything but spill his entire damned life story to this man. And Alfred had no clue why.

He let his cheek sink deeper into the pillow underneath him, an odd emotion washing over him. Hell, it almost felt foreign for a second there, but the American knew better.

Old, but not foreign. So long since he'd last felt…_safe_ like this.

Though he'd be an idiot to think it'd last. As soon as his lips parted and he'd start to dredge the past up what little security he felt would vanish…

"I do."

Alfred's eyes flickered up as soon as Arthur pushed those two words out, his heart _fluttering _as he noticed the briefest of smiles gracing the elder's face.

Though Alfred knew it would be short-lived as soon as he began rattling off his "story".

A more _bitter_ side of him wondered if Arthur would use this as "character development" for his own Alfred, but the side was promptly shut off.

"Well…" Jones drawled, beating around the bush momentarily as he tried to piece together the entire thing in his head first. "I lived in Detroit a little while growing up. Ma, Pa, sister, and I. You get the picture. 'Happy little family' I guess."—a snort—"We lived on the outskirts of the city really, but screw it. Doesn't really matter…" Alfred cleared his throat before continuing.

"Dad was er…not around most the time. But it didn't matter much to me. I was more into homework than I was hanging out with an old drunk bastard. Ma nagged at just about everyone about anything and everything. But I mean… it's not like I had some awful life or anything! Just a bit annoying at times. They didn't yell much at me. When Pa drank, he just passed out a lot. Mom worked extra shifts to get me that telescope I wanted when I was eight…Heh. Being the little brat I was I never used it after. I immediately yelled at her and told her I wanted acting lessons instead."

A pause. "Sorry. I'm rambling."

He cleared his throat again before continuing, and when he did, he'd jumped subjects entirely. "I was ugly. Or _I _thought so at least. Pizza face, fat, and oily hair to boot…I wore these thick-framed glasses and looked like a total Poindexter. Let's just put it mildly and say I was no Prom King, 'kay? …Heh. In fact I think I got beat up the Prom King…

"Anyway! Yeah…where was I? Ugly. Yup. I was no looker and my older sister was. Her name was Amelia and this is going to sound extremely awkward…but she _was _hot." He blanched a little after realizing he'd stressed that past verb, but continued anyway.

"For a while there, she was the star of the school. She paraded around and owned the place. The teachers liked her, she made friends with pretty much everyone and…Ha. Amelia could do practically anything she set her mind on. People didn't so much as lay a finger on me then…Well…That lasted a year or two in high school. Junior year…erm. Things got difficult."

He tapped anxiously at his chin, swallowing thickly.

"Difficult," he repeated himself. "Yeah. Things definitely got difficult. Right after Dad up and left, she just started acting weird. I caught her sneaking into my his old alcohol stash when we were alone. She'd get shit-faced and start puking in the toilet…Of course I cleaned up after her! I took the blame when Ma'd come home the next day and ask who had been drinking beer. Got belted a couple times for that, but it was worth it…

"If that wasn't fucking enough, a month later she started smuggling packs of cigarettes into the house. Smoked 'em in the backyard…'Said they helped with 'stress'. Begged me not to tell…" he growled the last part, eyes darting back and forth as he recalled it. "I'd snatched one out of her hand once when I heard Ma get back from work. Damn it. The woman came out and saw _me_ holding it. Thought I was the one becoming a delinquent. She was beyond pissed…Ma put the cig out onto my arm. Fuck if that didn't hurt!

"That was the last straw for me…Well. Nah. Truthfully I put up with it for a little longer. I kept asking her what was wrong, but of course she wouldn't tell me. If you want my two cents, I think that new group of friends she'd picked up caused it. Whatever. Too late for me to figure it out…

"Let's just say no matter what I did, nothing I could do would pin the blame on me for what she did next. There was no way I could cover for that." He sighed, gripping the covers tighter.

"She dropped out." He forced the words out, making a face as if it was physically painful to say. "She dropped out and didn't give anyone any explanation. Just shrugged when Ma asked why and didn't even wince once when she was yelled at. Just started bumming it at home.

"But _apparently_ that wasn't good enough for her. Soon as Dad flew the coop—that ass—we didn't have barely a penny to our name. Enough to get by, but hardly. We started selling some of our possessions. Hell, I think I got rid of half of my wardrobe…Amelia, too. Though it pissed her off way more than it did me. I didn't care." He sighed, this entire conversation seeming to drain him a little.

He chuckled pathetically, almost as if trying to make light of what he had to say next. "She got a job then." He whispered, lower lip quivering. "But it was prostitution." Alfred scratched at the back of his neck. "Woulda' thunk' it? Right?" His attempt at humor only made him seem all the more pitiful. "I sorta think she did it just to anger Ma. And it did. It angered me too.

"Word got around school she worked corners and now I not only got beat up for being a total geek, but harassed about her being some whore. She was nothing like she used to be. I vowed to be nothing like her."

There was another brief pause and Alfred began cracking his knuckles, a worried tick of his he'd never really broke from when he was younger.

"Well let's just say promises break, alright? It lasted while it did, but…Things change. I started getting more and more depressed. My weight. My acne. I looked disgusting. I _felt_ disgusting. Everything around me felt like it was shattering. Mom took on more and more shifts, working herself to the bone. And Amelia got fucked by everyone and their brother. I felt isolated from everyone I knew. Eating disorders. Cutting. You name it. When you think of teenage depression, envision me, alright?" He groaned softly, eyes watering against his will.

"I settled down finally. Things hadn't been looking up, but I'd gone and deciding there was nothing I could do about it. I took up running. Not really track, but just running around the school track when I had the chance. To let my frustrations out, y'know? I shed most my weight by the end of the year. Though, I was still no twig.

"I went to visit my sister one day. Some ratty city whorehouse I overheard she was in from the boys at school. I'd grown tired of seeing my Ma work long hard hours for me. I had long accepted I wouldn't be getting into college. My grade's had dropped and I had no money to get myself in anyway. I doubted I could get much of a job with not even a high school diploma. I could get small jobs, yeah. Part-time. But I guess I was too much of a selfish idiot. I guess I was just following my sister's footsteps? I don't know. So yup. I'd snuck out of the house and went there to see if they'd let me in.

"And what do you know? They did. Acne scars and all. I guess a virgin's a virgin and they'd take on just about anyone willing. So I was accepted. I got to learn the ropes and be reunited with my sister. Though, to be honest, she didn't want much to do with me then. I guess she was disgusted.

"Maybe she didn't recognize me from all that weight-loss? Who knows. But anyways. The job wasn't exactly a walk in the park. I learned that my first night." He cringed. "I bled afterwards for days and days. I was so fucking sore, too, you know?! But the place broke me soon enough and I became accustomed to it._ Or, as accustomed as one can get to that_. I tried to distance myself from what was actually happening. I thought if I cracked jokes and acted the way I did, I could ignore everything else. It was my coping method I guess.

"But it didn't work for long. There was an entire period in my life where I was just some shell of a person. Not even much different than if the customer had purchased a blow-up doll, really…" he trailed off with a forced chuckle. "After I figured out my sister overdosed, that is."

Those last words seemed to be the last trigger he needed for the tears to begin racing down on his cheeks, years of pent up frustration dribbling down and falling off his chin.

"I was able to block that out too eventually. And what did all that leave? Me: older, slimmer, my hormones no longer controlling my life. My hair's no longer greasy. My scars have faded. And here I am. Still a prostitute. I got traded out to somewhere more expensive, but that doesn't change what I am."

And then he fell silent, as if wondering if he'd even said all that out aloud.

He voiced those thoughts seconds later, furiously dabbing at his tears as if trying to erase the evidence of what just happened. "W-Why the hell am I telling you this anyway?!" he cried, suddenly appearing to be at his breaking point. "Damn it all, this is so stupid!"

Arthur blinked then, almost as if he felt this was his cue to do something…erm…._un-Arthur-like._

He reached forward without a moment's hesitation, clutching desperately to the shaking boy beside him and gingerly placing his lips on the boy's hair. "Shh," he pleaded gently, rubbing small patterns on his back. "C-Calm down, love." That last word had both of their faces burning bright red and Alfred could tell from his face that Arthur was shocked he said it too. And did he see a bit of regret mixed in with his features as well?

"Love?" the American repeated shakily, going limp in the Brit's arms. "Please…Please don't call me that." It was ridiculous to make requests like that though, Alfred reminded himself. '_The customer can do and say anything he wishes, Alfred…'_ But he couldn't stop himself. Something about it made his heart skip expectantly and a feeling of dread linger in his stomach simultaneously.

Arthur grimaced, drawing back slightly to look the other in the eyes. "Why not?" he challenged, but there was no aggression to his voice. _Just__—_Alfred narrowed his eyes, trying to pin a name to it—hurt? That-that couldn't be it…

"Because…Because you don't—" he piped up, only to stop himself soon after. _Because you don't love me and you're only getting my hopes up?! Because you only want me for some book! _He paled at the realization, trying to get it out of his head. _'You don't even know him that well, you idiot! Don't be so__—__!__'_

But before he could finish that thought, he was cut off by a pair of British lips, two surprisingly smooth hands cupping either side of his face. They met with his own lips for a few, quiet seconds—the kiss proving more chaste than sexual— before slowly drawing back, leaving the both of them visibly flustered (how this was different than the hundreds of kisses they'd exchanged an hour ago, neither one was sure). "Alfred, I—I can't say that I love you yet. Hell, 'loving someone' has never been my field per say. At least not _that sort_ of love before. I don't want to lie to you and say that I do when to be honest…I'm not even sure myself. But I care. I care a lot more about you than I've had about anyone before in my past. I swear I'll—"

Alfred cut him off. "But aren't you using me too?" his voice croaked halfway.

"W-What? What are you—!? Of course not!"

Alfred didn't look all too convinced. "Aren't I just another one of your characters?"

And at that, Arthur fell silent.

* * *

**myeh u; hopefully this chapter wasn't super cliche?**


	21. Chapter 21

**Asdfg **ヾ**(´A**｀**)**ノﾟ**this chapter was trying to kill me you guys, I swear! I soooo didn't want to write it either Q_Q I was this close from bashing my head into the wall over it! And, um, I have no **_**real**_** excuse as to why it took me so long to finish. Other than the fact that my birthday was two days ago (16 woohoo~) and I was on Tumblr too much (I'm "keaimaaao" if any of you are interested u; *cough*)…but other than that I'm just a lazy fool**

**And special thanks to sasorilover7 ewe;… this chapter…it was such a rushed mess before she helped. It's still a bit myeh to me, but it's the best it's going to get since there's no way I'm editing it again xD I might die! Sorry it's rushed but I'm beyond done with this story OTL**

**Oh, and this might come as a shock to you buuuuuut~ it'sthelastchapter! Eeep! Hard to imagine, huh, you guys? Welp, I plan on starting up another usuk/ukus fanfic soon so it's okay I guess! (more info at the bottom~)**

**Thank you everyone who has reviewed, liked, and favorited! You guys are so wonderful and I love all of you Q3Q**

* * *

"_Aren't I just another one of your characters?"_

_And at that, Arthur fell silent._

* * *

Chapter 21

"_Alfred_." The boy's name spilled out eerily soft from his lips, much softer than Arthur had anticipated it to, but the dangerous intent in his voice remained crystal clear. "How do you know about that?"

It was more than just an innocent question and the two of them knew it.

"Take a wild guess, Kirkland!" Alfred shot back, a venomous quality to his voice, his body quivering and mouth pulled back in a tight grimace. When he received no response, he simply bit out the answer. "I figured out the password, damn it! I read the entire fucking thing!" His voice cracked twice, and for the huge act he was putting on, his vulnerability still shown bright as a light. The Englishman just wanted to shatter it to pieces.

"That's an invasion of privacy." He informed the other dryly, darkened eyes darting this way and that, building up quickly with—pent up anger, was it? Or fear? Hurt? It was hard to tell.

"Did you get off writing about me, _Arthur?_" the American seethed, stressing his name the same way Arthur had to him. "Taking my miserable wreck of a life and manipulating it into some sappy bestseller? Oh, but no. Had to cut a couple things out there, didn't ya? A dirty prostitute doesn't make for a good read, does it?! Take out the part where I get fucked by old men for a living and it's a fucking great story, isn't it? I'm such a well-developed character, aren't I, _Arthur?_ What do you think?"

Arthur rose from where he was sitting on the bed, fingers curling at his sides, struggling to make a response.

"Alfred, don't put words in my mouth." he warned gently, a fixed scowl on his paling face.

"Isn't it ironic though, _Arthur?_ How wonderful things work out for _your_ Alfred? I bet you're planning on giving him his own little happily-ever-after too, huh? Who would've thunk' the real Alfred was trekking down the same path as his druggie, miserable excuse for a sister? Betcha' he dies the exact same way, hmm? Betcha he dies alone, _overdosed,_ in the arms of another? Alone but always in constant company! Isn't that great?" he mused bitterly, a mock enthusiasm to his voice.

"Alfred, stop." The gentleness ceased.

"Do what you want, Arthur. Really and honestly, _you do what you want._ Just don't you dare for one second tell me you love me. Or, hell, tell me your feelings for me come anywhere close to 'love'! I'm worthless. Disgusting. A whore. Hell, I'm all those things and a lot more. But 'loveable' isn't on the list, sweetheart!"

"Shut up!" Arthur tried again, fists on either side of him; tightening harder and harder the longer the American went on. "Shut up for a bloody second and listen to me! You're not disgusting! And I don't—!"

"Who are you to decide that? You've fucked me once—_no, twice. I__'__ll grant you that much_—and suddenly, 'whoop!' You love me. You don't love me. You just love being inside of me. It's as simple as that, Mr. Asexual."

Arthur's eyes darkened at that. "Leave my sexuality out of this, please and thank you."

"Whatever, Kirkland." He growled back, whipping his face away in favor of staring daggers down at the floor instead. "It doesn't matter! I'm just your character and now you're seeing another side of me. _The actual me._ Just a low-life. A back-talking, used-up prostitute with a dirty mouth. I _apologize_."

"No." Arthur hissed, latching out and gripping the other's arm, squeezing as hard as his muscles would allow him to. "Look at me, damn it."

Watering baby blues flickered over briefly and the Briton thought for a split second, in the midst of all the anger burning in those eyes of his, he saw just a smidge of softness lingering.

He loosened his grip a tad, not wanting to inflict pain on the boy. If anything, Kirkland wished that crushing self-consciousness of his was a person. He'd be more than willing to deliver a punch smack-dab against its jaw, deliver a harsh elbow to its side, a swift kick to the groin. In fact, he'd pay special attention to the groin. He'd have it writhing on the floor, begging to be put out of its misery. And he'd allow that, by all means.

"I care _so much about you._" He whispered, but there was such an intensity in his voice the other found he couldn't even do as much as argue, let alone remember to breathe or blink for that matter. "Don't you bloody tell me I don't _care about you_, Alfred. I care so much more about you than I'd ever _care_ to admit. You're not disgusting. You're not a whore. You tell me you're worthless one more time and so help me, I—_fuck. I don__'__t bloody know what I__'__ll do._ I've never remotely felt like this towards someone else before and damn it all, if this is love, I accept it! I could care less if you think I haven't known you long enough to 'develop feelings for you' or whatnot! I love you, you twat!"

"B-But how can you when I'm—!"

Arthur wasn't about to let him finish that thought.

"When you're _what?!"_ he demanded of him, gripping the other by the shoulders. "You're dreadfully _perfect_, Alfred, so shut the hell up about all that nonsense! I don't want to hear it _and by God I won't hear it! _And perhaps, on a side note, I found you so _perfect_ I wanted to make a character in your likeliness, hmm? Rather than just using you? Has that thought ever crossed your mind?" he snapped, ending his little tirade off with an indignant huff.

As soon as his breathing had regulated—an enormous feat for having shout for two minutes straight on end—and his poor, hammering heart had returned to his normal pace, his blood swarmed to his cheeks, a furious blush making its home on his face as he realized finally what he'd just poured out. _Bloody hell_, he'd just half shout out/ half proclaimed his love for the boy in front of him… All the while, clutching onto him like some lovesick maniac.

That had to have been the single most embarrassing instance in his entire 20 some years of life.

"E-Er…I'm…" he sputtered out bashfully, releasing his hold on the other completely and shuffling back as if not sure what to do with himself. "Uh…well…I…"

But the American didn't let him finish; he buried himself in the Brit's arms, sniveling and sobbing and digging his nails in his back, hot tears pouring from his eyes and staining his shirt.

"Thank you, Arthur." He whispered into the crook of his neck, holding onto him for dear life. "Thank you so much."

And despite still blushing like a buffoon, Arthur placed a tender kiss to the boy's hair, drawing him in as close as he could manage.

"No. Thank _you_, Alfred."

* * *

"You're up early." The remark made was innocent enough, the speaker letting a small smile grace his lips after saying it. Without so much as turning around, Arthur had sensed the younger scamper into the kitchen behind him and he had to admit, to a subconscious level at the very least, that the boy shuffling in so quietly, nervous to draw attention to himself, was _cute_. "But in perfect time, might I add. I'm brewing a cuppa up for myself as we speak. If you'd like a cup, I'd be more than fine with—"

"Do you have any coffee?"

He rubbed his cheek gingerly for a second as if the boy had slapped him with that question.

And then he frowned—or rather pouted—down at his work again. "No. I believe not."

Alfred plopped down on one of the chairs seated at the kitchen table and sighed. "Then tea's fine." He said dejectedly, bloody well sounding as if he'd just agreed to drink out of the toilet. And then he just _stared._

And believe you him; Arthur could feel the eyes on his back. It was kind of hard not to when the other was blatantly ogling at him.

He wasn't entirely sure why—no, he _knew why after that little outburst/confession of his the night before__—_ but it caused his heart to skip a beat. He coughed, mentally cringing at how cliché his life was becoming. "Is there anything else I can get for you, love?"

…Damn it! "Erm…Alfred, I mean." He corrected himself without missing a beat.

He could hear Alfred clear his throat from behind him and he was thankful at that moment his horrendous blush wasn't noticeable.

"'Love' is fine." The American whispered, though his words were still loud enough for the other to hear.

He was 99.9% sure the noise he made in response was inhuman.

And he was 100% sure the tea stain he just made on himself in that little, shocked, possibly epileptic fit he just had would not be coming out easily.

"A-er-alright. If you wish." The Brit muttered under his breath, eyes flickering back for a second toward the other.

For minutes after the Brit had set down a cup in front of him, the two stayed quiet. And bloody hell was the silence slowly killing him.

So in that moment his mouth betrayed him and he said quite possibly the dumbest thing imaginable.

"Is it too forward of me to ask you to quit?"

Alfred blinked two doe eyes up at him, his blonde brows knitting as if he wasn't sure he heard right. "Hm?"

"I said," Arthur repeated, a heavy red color blooming on his cheeks, "is it too forward of me to ask you to quit your 'job'?"

Alfred shooed his question away immediately. "W-Why would I do something like that?!"

Needless to say this didn't help the Brit's growing embarrassment.

"Because I…I don't…."—he cleared his throat—"You could do better. I know you can and Alfred, I…truthfully I don't want _this_ to end."

Alfred took an anxious sip from his cup in response, his fingers drumming again the china. "This 'job' keeps me fed, just by the by…"

Arthur sat himself down on the seat across from him, resting his cheek in his palm. "Let me find you another job."

"And what might that be, Arthur?" Alfred frowned, all meekness thrown out the window. "You do realize I don't even have so much as a high school diploma, right?"

"I'll…split the profits of my book with you for starters." He announced flatly, and try as he might, he couldn't get rid of the uneasiness nesting in the pit of his stomach as he said it.

"Wh-Why would you—?" Widened eyes narrowed with realization. "I don't need your pity, if that's what this is."

Arthur's hand shot out as he spoke, entwining his fingers with the others. "Let's not have a repeat of last night, alright, love? This isn't pity. You heard what I said yesterday. I don't pity you. I _care_ about you. Besides, it's based on you anyway; I might as well pay you what you deserve."

His only response came as a muffled "mm".

"And as for your job, I'm sure you get something set up easily with Gilbert. My editor." He added when he noticed the other looking confused. "He could pull a couple strings here and there and get you a job at the publishing house. His older brother owns it after all."

If Arthur's eyes weren't betraying him, he'd say he saw a few stray tears trickle down the other's cheeks.

Oh hell, he was noticing he had a knack for making this boy burst into waterworks.

"I still don't understand I—"

And for the second time in the last twenty four hours, Arthur found himself cutting the boy off with a sloppy, enthusiastic kiss.

"How many times do I have to tell you I love you?"

And with a weak smile, Alfred found that was all he needed.

Consider him booked for life.

* * *

**Cheesy ending is cheesy! ; u ; and dumb. I'm so sorry all of you had to read that. OTL anyhoo! About the next story! I'm planning on actually making an **outline** for it!*shocked gasps from the audience* Yeah, you heard it! No more of me going ":D hehe! I have no idea how this story's going to end so let me just make this up as I go and just bang my head against the keyboard until I make words"…well, there still might be a little of that ****–****w-; *cough* so, yup! But I'm still confused as to which direction I want to go.**

**I was thinking either (doesn't want to give it away here so I'll be vague):**

**The 20's (flappers, etc.), a super hero/ villain story, or possibly something a bit more morbid in Victorian London ;3; I don't know which one to use! I'd love to hear your input!**

**Also, do you prefer UkUs or UsUk or both?**


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